


Will You Still Know Me in a Year?

by pearlcaddy



Series: 100 Bad Days [3]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Apparently Minor Carrie Wilson/Original Character?, Banter is My Love Language so It's Jukebox's Too, But somehow there is still pining because of course, Established Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I didn't mean for that to happen, I don’t think this counts as angst but there is definitely Moping™, Living!Phantoms AU, Long-Distance Relationship, Minor Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Sexual Content, Texting, and then there was fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlcaddy/pseuds/pearlcaddy
Summary: Julie isn’t sure what she expected from a semester abroad in Ireland… but not this. It turns out that long distance relationships are hard. Who knew?Continued adventures in the Enemies with Benefits to Bandmates to Lovers AU, which I guess is now just a Lovers AU.
Relationships: Flynn & Julie Molina, Julie Molina & Alex Mercer, Julie Molina & Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina & Ray Molina, Julie Molina & Reggie Peters, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Series: 100 Bad Days [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011168
Comments: 354
Kudos: 458





	1. A Long Long Way from Here to There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Squealing Pigs" by Admiral Fallow  
> Chapter Title from "Lisdoonvarna" by Christy Moore
> 
> This probably won't make sense if you haven't read [A Hundred Bad Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232234) and [Just a Casual, Casual Easy Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609499).
> 
> People who requested the study abroad fic probably meant "Do the part where the boys visit and let there be fun nonsense fluff" but obviously I interpreted it as "do Julie's whole semester abroad and add sad moping and send Julie on a wee journey." But I promise there _will_ be Jukebox fluff.
> 
> [WhatsApp text skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842043/chapters/36893073) courtesy of ran_a_dom, [Facebook Messenger text skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19249828) adapted from ran_a_dom, and [iOS text skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722) courtesy of CodenameCarrot and La_Temperanza. (Did you come to this fic for this kind of specificity regarding medium of communication? Probably not. But boy are you getting it.)
> 
> Playlist for this fic is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2j5V7UUJR9gDNN0ILKYHNs?si=6GvXFwTxTiGtvwarRyuQCw).

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Hot Jackass Guitarist :**  
[offline]  
  
Julie:  Irish winter is wild.   
Or I guess being this far from the equator in general is wild.   
I walked into the university for orientation at 9 and the sun was rising, and now I’m walking back six hours later and the sun is setting. Where did the day go? 

As soon as Julie hits send, she feels silly. It’s seven am back home. Luke usually sleeps from five to ten. She messaged him on instinct, but it doesn’t make any sense, does it? Heaving a sigh, Julie tucks her phone into her back pocket, trying to focus on the walk back along the Eglinton Canal to her apartment.

She arrived in Galway yesterday morning and, ridden with jet lag, had stumbled around the city collecting supplies for her apartment and a temporary SIM card for her phone before collapsing into bed. All she knows of the west coast of Ireland so far is that the skies are grey, the rain mists on her face, and the air smells of salt and a smokiness she can’t pinpoint. She’s never really noticed the air in LA before, aside from being vaguely aware that it’s trying to murder her. Even when she goes to the beach (which is rare, because why on earth would she go to the beach? That’s where the sand lives), the salty smells that should come from the sea are largely masked by the chaotic, poisonous smells of the megacity. 

Her whole life, she’s thought of herself as someone who lives by the ocean, but in reality, she lives an hour’s drive from the coast and the Pacific Ocean has never really been a presence in her life. Here, surrounded by the salty dampness of the air, she’s conscious of the fact that if she walks for just five more minutes, she’ll be looking at the Atlantic Ocean. 

Glancing at her apartment building, she feels the pull of sleep, jet lag woven into every bone of her body. Her eyes burn like they’re trying to fall out of her head while her limbs scream that she’s meant to still be in bed. She _knows_ that the best way to get over jet lag is to adopt the sleep schedule of the new time zone, but her whole body is convinced that it’s 7 am and, as a college student, she should be sleeping.

She tucks her key in her pocket and forces herself to march down the canal. She’s not allowing herself to sleep until nighttime, damn it.

By the time she gets to Galway Harbour, her whole body is crying out for rest, so she sits down at the edge of the harbor, realizing a second too late that—of course—the stone beneath her is soaked in water and therefore so is her butt.

Maybe she should just accept that she’s going to be damp for the next five months. Apparently this is what the west coast of Ireland is in the winter.

She looks across the gently roiling grey waves at the row of multicolored houses along the water’s edge that provides the iconic image of Galway, and her exhausted body begins to sway to the sounds of the ocean.

This isn’t what she thought study abroad would be like. She thought she would immediately be surrounded with exciting new experiences and feel completely exhilarated. Instead, she’s killing time before the semester starts and she just feels extremely tired and lonely.

Before she can stop herself, she checks her phone again. _Stop doing that!_ He’s still asleep, and she should be Living In The Moment™.

She knows she’s being unreasonably grumpy. She knows she should be grateful to be here. Any other year, she would have been so happy for the change of environment because everything was so exhausting and hard. The first semester of college, she was desperately trying to figure out how to live away from home and be a college student. The second semester was entirely swallowed by her mother’s diagnosis and death. Then her sophomore year was all about figuring out how to sing again and finding her place in the band. The first semester of her junior year felt like the first time she’d finally figured everything out: she knew how to handle college, she was singing and writing again, she felt confident and secure in the band, she had a great apartment, great friends, great boyfriend…

Without all that, who is she?

It’s probably the most privileged problem she’s ever had. _This just, like, wasn’t the most convenient time for me to move abroad and have zero responsibilities other than to travel and experience new things._

All at once, she remembers her mother’s advice the first time Julie went on tour with her. “You know the rookie mistake people make when they’re jetlagged? Thinking too much. Don’t be introspective when you’re that tired—you’ll always make yourself sad.”

Julie shakes her head to herself, then feels the hood of her raincoat slipping down. She instantly yanks it back up. She can already tell that she’s going to spend the next five months with her hair in an up-do and the hood on her head. This weather is going to wreak absolute havoc on her curls, and an umbrella can’t do anything to stop the rain that seems to be coming horizontally?? despite of the lack of wind??

Her phone chirps and she wrenches it out of her pocket. But it’s not Luke. It’s the last person she ever expected to hear from.

**Facebook Message with** **Carrie Wilson :**  
[Active now]  
  
I wanted to check out one of the pubs they mentioned in orientation  
The ones where you can listen to traditional music?  
But my flatmates haven’t moved in yet  
I know they said you can go to pubs by yourself, but that seems pathetic

Julie’s still processing _Carrie fucking Wilson_ messaging her on Facebook when the last message come in.

  
"This is probably weird. I don’t know anyone else here"

Julie notices that she hasn’t actually asked a question, but the part of Julie that is aching for a piece of home doesn’t care if it’s coming from the girl who’s spent two and a half years making snide comments. And the fact that Carrie messaged her at all means that her classmate is probably feeling the same way Julie is. In spite of herself, she feels a strange kinship for someone as lonely and adrift as she is.

  
"I’m down. When were you thinking?"

* * *

A couple hours later, Julie cautiously approaches Carrie on Shop Street, the main thoroughfare of Galway. There’s something unsettling about seeing Carrie in her hot pink shaggy faux fur coat and bright blue leggings standing in the middle of the cobblestone pedestrian street surrounded by stone buildings and old painted storefronts. Like someone photoshopped a stock image of “LA Girl” into a fairy tale village.

Is there a chance that this is some sort of weird prank? For a second, Julie can picture Flynn on the street beside her, raising a skeptical eyebrow and saying, “There’s still time to run.” But Carrie bites her lip, looking around like she’s tiny and lost, so Julie squares her shoulders and marches up to her classmate.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Carrie bobs her head nervously. She opens her mouth and, for a moment, Julie wonders if the girl is going to address their weird history, but she just nods at the pub. “Shall we?”

The pub is very small, with a slopped ceiling that seems to be falling down to meet their heads, and there’s a coziness to it that instantly makes Julie feel like she’s being hugged by the building itself. The pub isn’t particularly full, and the people who _are_ there seem to be older. Jetlag has clearly driven Julie and Carrie here at non-youth hours, or maybe trad draws an older crowd or maybe it’s just that Galway’s a university town and most students haven’t moved back yet. Whatever the reason, Julie and Carrie are very visibly the youngest people in the room.

The bartender takes in Carrie’s outfit with amusement. He gives them a look—a look Julie will come to know as “you don’t need to open your mouth for me to know what country you’re from.” “Are y’alright?” he asks.

Carrie glances at the time on her phone, then scans the mostly empty pub, as if the band might be hiding somewhere. “What time does the traditional music start?”

His face crumples with ill-concealed laughter. “Trad? Half five, but the band runs on Irish time, so get comfortable.” Then he jerks his head at the taps and raises an eyebrow.

Julie’s never really thought of herself as someone who drinks—just someone who occasionally takes whatever potentially fatal alcohol is on offer at parties. She actually hates the taste of most alcoholic beverages, so she picks the tap with a picture of an apple on it. Fruit means it’ll be sweet, right? “Bulmers.”

He nods, then looks to Carrie. She eyes the obvious tap in front of her. “Guinness?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

She crosses her arms like her honor’s been threatened but also like he’s right. “I don’t really like beer.”

He winces at the word “beer.” “Let’s have you on a Guinness and Black, so. Blackcurrant juice mixed in, helps some people get used to the taste.”

Carrie nods. He pops off to pour their drinks, and something about his confident step and comfort behind the bar reminds Julie so strongly of Luke behind the gelato counter that, for a single painful moment, her whole heart seizes up. It’ll be five months before she sees that again, and part of her brain is already starting the countdown. One day down, 150 to go.

She tugs her gaze away, focusing instead on the sign next to the counter. “Irish spoken here. English understood.” It draws a grin from her, and Carrie follows her gaze.

“Are you taking that Irish class?” Carrie asks.

“Mhm. You?”

“Yep.” There’s a very long pause, as they both search desperately for anything to say. Carrie finds something first. “But my Irish flatmates were laughing when I messaged them about it. They seem to think it’s more of a hazing ritual than a language class.”

“Yeah, mine were like, ‘We studied Irish for twelve years in school, and we don’t speak it. What are you going to learn in twelve weeks?’”

The bartender sets their pints in front of them, and looks from the Guinness to Carrie, like he’s waiting for something. Very slowly, she raises the glass and takes a small sip. Smacking her lips slightly, she takes it in. “Huh.”

“No good?” he asks.

“I’ll get back to you.”

They pay and slip into a booth. Julie sets her phone on the table in front of her and the screen instantly lights up, drawing Carrie’s eyes to the lockscreen.

It’s a picture Flynn took at one of the band’s last rehearsals. Julie and Luke are sitting on the couch, his arm around her shoulders. Reggie and Alex are leaning over the back of the couch as Reggie serenades the group with his banjo. Alex and Julie are laughing at the bassist, but Luke’s gaze is on her, eyes soft.

Seeing that look stabs her with simultaneous joy and sadness.

“Julie and the Phantoms, right?”

For a second, Julie’s surprised that Carrie knows the name of her band, until she remembers that Carrie is friends with Reggie’s girlfriend. “Yep.”

“And you’re dating the guitarist?”

An embarrassing smile, the one that always comes out when she talks about her boyfriend, fights to appear on her face. “Yeah, Luke.”

“How long have you been together?”

The question always throws Julie because the actual answer doesn’t feel accurate. As soon as the guys became part of her life, she felt like they’d always been there. Officially, she’s been in the band for thirteen months and in a relationship with Luke for eight, but both of those things feel much longer, and she’s always surprised when she does the math and realizes how small the numbers still are.

Carrie clocks her hesitation and her mouth pulls upwards, like she _knows_. “Messy start date?”

“Technically eight months, but arguably sixteen.”

Carrie waves her hand at the lockscreen. “Does he look at the camera?”

Julie pulls up a picture from a couple weeks ago. The two of them went to the temporary ice skating rink at LA Live, and there’s a selfie of them clutching the side of the rink, him hugging her from behind and grinning into the camera with his face tucked in next to hers.

A smile that seems genuine crosses Carrie’s face as she concedes, “You’re really cute together.”

“Thanks.” The picture is making Julie sad and her phone being out just reminds her that Luke hasn’t replied, so she tucks it into her pocket. “Do you have…?”

Carrie shrugs, unconcerned. “Not since freshman year.”

Oh, right. Julie vaguely remembers something with Nick. That feels like a damn lifetime ago. She points to the Guinness. “How is that?”

“I think I like it? I keep drinking it, so I must like it, right?”

Julie laughs. They settle into a conversation that is… okay, very forced at first, but at least orientation has given them something to talk about, so they discuss the classes they’re taking and the clubs and societies they might join, and the trips they want to take. Although Carrie’s got more trips planned to the continent than Julie does, most of their travel priorities seem to overlap, and Julie’s surprised by how quickly and pleasantly time passes before the band appears and begins to languidly set up at the reserved table in the back of the pub.

Carrie checks her phone. “Irish time’s no joke.”

The members of the band take out their instruments: a violin, a guitar, some kind of frame drum, and a banjo. (Julie resists the urge to message Reggie.) The sight of the musicians tuning tugs sharply at her heart again. She’s reminded acutely that in three days, her band will be doing their first garage party without her in over a year, that she won’t see Luke and Reggie tuning in person for months.

Before she can get lost in that introspective spiral her mother warned her about, the band begins to play. The instant they do, the whole pub seems to come to life. Nothing about the pub _should_ be acoustically suited for a performance—it’s a cramped stone room. But it’s like the very walls of the building were built for music, like the actual physical structure rejoices in it, and bounces it back. And even though the musicians are just sitting around a table, they’re more lively and engaging than most rock groups Julie sees sprinting and jumping around proper stages. Some of the songs they perform seem to be well-known tunes that they’ve got memorized, but other times she can tell that they’re improvising, drawing on common themes and patterns to construct something new and temporary, giving each other little glances and nods to cue one another. It reminds Julie of the way she feels when her band gets stuck while writing and they try to improvise random stuff to work their way through it. Like they’re bypassing musical notation to reach something raw and rough and pure—the unpolished heart of music itself. 

Occasionally the patrons sing along, but it’s not until halfway through the band’s set that she really gets to see the pub come to life. The band are on a pause between songs when a man seated at the bar yells out, “Give us ‘Wild Rover!’”

The whole pub explodes into four rhythmic claps.

(Okay, there are some people who aren’t participating, and one woman in the corner who rolls her eyes to herself, but it _feels_ like everyone is clapping.)

The band glances at each other, shrugs, and grins. Julie’s heart pangs immediately—it’s the familiar look she and her band do when people make song requests at garage parties. 

She’s immediately distracted when the band begins singing the first verse and, again, it _feels_ like the whole pub bursts into song along with them. Some people keep chatting and ignore it, but most of the patrons who are there have come to this pub at this time on purpose. Even the woman in the corner is reluctantly singing along by the time the band gets to the chorus, and the whole room is singing, “ _And it’s no nay never!_ ”

The bartender makes eye contact with them across the pub and holds up his hands, signaling them to join in for the claps. They clap four times, trying to match the rhythm of the crowd. Julie’s heart squeezes fiercely—she can picture her band at the table with her, Alex clapping on his chest, Reggie singing with glee, Luke craning his neck to see the guitar chords so that his air guitar will be accurate.

As the band starts the second verse, Carrie googles the lyrics and sets her phone between them on the table. The girls sing quietly along, trying to figure out the melody as it unfolds. But just as they start to get into the groove of the song, it ends, and the room erupts into a bunch of grown ass adults loudly yelling “yeow!” Carrie jumps and Julie bursts out laughing. On a delay, Julie slaps her hand over her mouth, hoping she hasn’t just broken their strange truce, but Carrie just shakes her head and smiles ruefully.

It happens a few more times as the band plays—songs or lines where the whole pub seems to be in on it. The music feels truly _communal_ , and the closest thing she’s ever experienced like that is singing hymns at mass. But there are no hymnals needed here, no formality, no standing to attention—just pure community and loose joy and love for the music. Even those who aren’t singing light up in the atmosphere. As her tired body sinks further into the booth and her brain is lured closer to sleep by the pint and the warmth of the pub, she feels like she’s actually soaking in music.

When the band stops for the night, Carrie and Julie bring their glasses up to the bar. The bartender shoots them an automatic “Thanks a million.” Then his eyes tick to Carrie, nodding at her empty glass. “How was it?”

“I liked it. Guinness and Black, you said?”

“Guinness and Black. Are you visiting the college?” He nods in the direction of the university, even though it’s a fifteen-minute walk away and not even remotely visible. 

“For five months.”

Huffing out a breath, he leans on the bar like he’s about to impart deep wisdom. “If you’re here for five months, you should know—you can’t be going around Ireland calling Guinness ‘beer.’” He says it like he simultaneously couldn’t care less if Carrie calls it beer and also like it’s very important to him that she never says it again. Almost like it’s a test.

“What should I call it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Carrie shrugs, clearly aiming for casual but coming off defensive instead. She _hates_ not knowing what’s going on, Julie realizes. But an easy grin slides across the bartender’s face. “You call it Guinness.”

Julie snorts. “Thank god you were here.”

“I was just going to call it Toucan Juice,” Carrie adds with an eye roll she obviously doesn’t really mean.

“Toucan Juice?” he asks.

“Isn’t a toucan the Guinness mascot or whatever?”

Julie adds, “You can’t be going around Ireland not knowing it’s Toucan Juice.”

They’re not funny—they’re both far too tired to be witty or sensical, and Julie’s no longer convinced that “toucan” is a real word—but his grin grows, like he appreciates the attempt. “Youse will do well here.” He shoots them a parting nod before he pops off to serve another patron and it feels… well, simultaneously very unimportant and also like they’re being welcomed.

Outside the pub, Carrie hesitates in the middle of the street. “Where are you living?”

“Eglinton Canal.”

“I’m near Eyre Square.”

Opposite directions. Julie nods, not really sure what to do. They had fun tonight, and that was wildly unexpected, but she’s not sure if they’re awkward friends now, or if this was just a desperate, one-time hangout because they don’t know anyone else and are too tired to exercise good judgment.

Carrie flips her hair over her shoulder and holds out her phone. “Put your Irish number in.”

“Really?” Julie can’t stop herself from asking.

The other girl lifts her chin, pulling an arrogant look over her face like a mask. “My flatmates aren’t interested in doing tourist stuff in their own country. I assume yours are the same. So if there’s something we both want to do, we might as well do it together.” There’s a pause, and Carrie jumps in pre-emptively, “But if you don’t want to, then it’s whatever.”

“No, that would be nice.” And Julie’s surprised to find that she means it.

As she and Carrie head off in different directions, Julie takes in the sight of Shop Street at night. The rain has left a bright sheen over everything, and the street lamps cast a soft, yellow glow on the wettest patches. For the first time that night, her heart clenches from happiness instead of sad longing.

She pulls out her phone to see that Luke has messaged her back, and the grin that instantly fills her face at just the sight of his WhatsApp nickname on her screen should maybe be embarrassing.

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Hot Jackass Guitarist :**  
[online]  
  
Luke: irish winter and i probably wouldn’t get along—i’d sleep through all the daylight   
Julie: Like you ever actually sleep.   
  


After she hits send, she lingers for a second with her phone in hand. But what are the odds that he’s going to message back anytime soon?

She only manages a few more steps down Bridge Street when her phone chimes.

Luke: i used to sleep before i met you  
you’re a terrible influence, you keep me up all night  
  
Julie: You were like this before me.  
  
Luke: prove it  
cite your sources, trojan  
how was your… night? is it night now?  
  
Julie: It is night.  
It was good! But weird. Carrie and I went to a pub and listened to trad.  
  
Luke: carrie???  
trad?  
  
Julie: Traditional music, obviously. Everyone knows that, Luke.  
And yeah, I think Carrie and I might be so lonely that we’re going to become friends-ish.  
  
Luke: are you lonely? :(  
  
Julie: Hopefully things will be better when the semester starts and more people are here.  
I already really miss you guys.  
  
Luke: but you're gonna have a killer semester  
fuck, just saw the time, gotta run to work

Immediately, she can picture him chucking on his shirt and sprinting out of his room. Like he’s done so many times when they lose track of time together. Only today she’s not there to see it.

She sends an “I love you” as quickly as she can, but he doesn’t reply for several hours, his phone presumably already away. On the one hand, it’s nice to wake up to his “I love you too” first thing the next morning. But on the other hand, the long gap between her I love you and his sits heavily in her heart more than she expects.

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Stringest Obedient Woman :**  
[online]  
  
Flynn: CARRIE?????  
  
Julie: This semester is going to be really weird, isn’t it?  
  
Flynn: i'm now concerned about february   
what’s going to happen when i get to dunedin??? am i going to become besties with, like, dean lessa??  
  
Julie: Why would the dean be studying abroad?  
  
Flynn: i now believe that literally anything can happen over the next five months  
gird your fucking loins, cause shit’s about to get weird

* * *

The first few weeks are full of unexpected things. She and Carrie becoming friends feels disturbingly easy, like they were always meant to be friends but just stumbled into the wrong alternate universe two years ago. Like now they’re course-correcting. Carrie can be prickly, but maybe where they went wrong in the past is that Carrie tends to deliver everything she says with a slightly harsher tone than she intends. She can also be a raging asshole, and Carrie’s the first to admit that, but Julie’s getting better at sorting out the actual asshole moments from the moments when her assholery is a miscommunication or a façade.

And as much as Julie thinks she knows Carrie, sometimes her classmate really surprises her. Like when the International Student Society take them on a bus tour to Connemara and Julie falls in love. She didn’t know it was possible to love land in this way, but the unusually clear day lights up the mountains and loughs and coves and bays and bogs and she doesn’t think she’s ever see anything so beautiful before. Not for the first time, she wishes she knew whether her mother had ever been to the west coast of Ireland, because she would have loved this.

The international student trip is just a bus tour, driving them through some of the most scenic parts of Connemara and through the main town of Clifden. But Julie’s eyes linger on the hills, and she longs to know what the region looks like from up there.

She mentions it casually to Carrie, expecting a vague answer in return, but the girl immediately responds, “I’m free tomorrow. You want to hike?”

Granted, Carrie is not at all prepared—when they catch the bus up to Letterfrack the next day, she’s wearing Uggs. And when they decide to abandon the trail for a bit and one of Carrie’s boots gets fully sucked off her foot in the peat bog, Julie thinks this will be the end of her classmate’s outdoor spirit, especially when her socked foot lands in the bog and gets covered in mud.

But Carrie sighs heavily, yanks the boot free of the ground, and shoves her bog-soaked foot back into it. “Knew these were a mistake.” And she fights her way back to the path and continues staunchly up the hill like her right foot isn’t squelching with every step.

The next weekend, they go hiking in Connemara again, and this time Carrie has proper hiking boots with ankle support. When the bog fails to take her shoes, she points two triumphant middle fingers at the ground and yells, “Who’s laughing now, bitch?”

So yeah, Carrie is unexpected.

Also unexpected is how fast Julie’s time at the university is passing. She’s used to USC’s fifteen-week semesters that stretch from January to the end of April. But at NUI Galway, classes only run for twelve weeks, followed by a lengthy Easter break and a solid month of exams. They’ll be done with classes at the end of March and then just existing in Ireland for two whole months. Julie should be looking forward to April, especially after Luke, Reggie, Alex, and Willie book their flights out for their visit, but she’s terrified by how quickly classes are going because there’s so little time for her to learn anything.

(Especially because she’s studying abroad, her classes are pass/fail, and she’s traveling a lot, so she wouldn’t say that she’s terribly focused on learning.)

But she is very worried about her Irish class.

Because it’s definitely a hazing ritual. She just not sure who it’s hazing.

During their first class, the instructor takes them through the Irish phonetic alphabet with a devious grin on her face as she explains that “bh” and “mh” are pronounced like “w” except when they’re pronounced like “v,” and “dh” is pronounced like “gh” except when it’s pronounced like “y.” Her grin lasts all of ten minutes before a look of intense resignation sinks in as she realizes, the way she probably does every single semester she teaches this class, that the visiting students need the full two hours to learn to pronounce “hello.”

At the end of a very unsuccessful class, she sinks onto her desk and sighs. “Do you at least know crack? Like, where’s the best crack?”

Carrie’s mouth drops open a bit. “Uhhhhhh.”

The tutor writes it on the board. _Craic._

Oh.

“It’s, like, fun and entertainment. A good time. ‘Where’s the craic?’ ‘How’s the craic?’ ‘Was it good craic?’ ‘The craic was mighty.’” Vividly, Julie can picture Reggie and Carlos standing next to her with their mouths open in delight at the turn of phrase, squealing, “The craic was mighty????”

The instructor gestures a tired hand at the room. “Now, craic isn’t really an Irish word. It’s a Scots word that got Gaelicized as part of a—“ She cuts herself off, seemingly realizing that she’s launching into a rant that no one else in the room has the context to understand. Exhaling deeply, she gets back on topic. “But, it’s treated as an Irish word and, for now, it’s the most important Irish word for you to know because it comes up in English all the… fecking time. But for next week, please, please listen to your Irish tapes. You should be able to say _dia duit_. I expect you to say real Irish words in your oral exam.”

(Julie doesn’t know that they really nail it by next week, but the poor woman looks at least 30% less broken by their attempts. Progress.)

But of everything about being in Ireland, the thing that surprises Julie the most is that Luke feels further away than Flynn, even though her best friend is literally on the opposite side of the world. The time difference between Ireland and New Zealand is thirteen hours for the first half of the semester, but thirteen is much easier to deal with than the eight-hour difference between Ireland and California. She and Flynn can usually catch each other at the lazy ends of their days—one of them in their morning and the other in their night. Eight hours, on the other hand, never syncs up nicely. By the time Luke wakes up in the morning, Julie’s in class, and by the time she’s out of class, he’s at work, and by the time he’s out of work, she’s in bed.

It’s not like they never talk. They usually catch each other at her morning and his night—she’s suddenly very grateful for his weird sleeping hours. But she’s acutely aware of all the time during the day that she can’t reach him. Once they stop talking in her morning, it’s rare that she can reach him until the next day, and that feels fundamentally wrong. At home, no matter what’s happening, she gets the anticipation of knowing she’ll see or talk to him at night. Now, she gets her favorite part of the day over with first thing, and spends the rest of the day knowing he’s largely unreachable.

As a result, she latches onto Carrie. Julie’s realizing that she’s spent a lot of the past couple years being very dependent on others: Flynn and Dr. Turner explaining her feelings to her, Luke supplying her musical confidence, Alex and Reggie giving her a sense of belonging and family at USC. She thought of them as her support squad, but she hadn’t realized how dependent she was until she left all of the things and people she knew behind and threw herself into an unknown environment. 

Julie’s trying to remind herself not to transfer those feeling to Carrie. But it’s hard, because sometimes she messages Luke and realizes he won’t respond, and either she has to sit in the ache of that gap in conversation, or she sends the message again to Carrie and knows she’ll get a response almost instantly.

Like when she messages Luke, “Help, my Irish flatmates are trying to make me weigh in on which tea is best and I don’t want to upset either of them.”

But he doesn’t respond, because he’s at work.

So she texts Carrie.

**Text Chat with** **Carrie Wilson :**  
  
Julie:  I’m being pulled into the Barrys vs Lyons debate. My flatmates are brewing a cup of each right now and apparently I have to be the judge cause I’m a “neutral third party.” What the fuck do I say?  
  
Carrie: My flatmates did that to me last week. I just said they both taste like dirty water  
  
Julie: How’d they take that?  
  
Carrie: “This is why people hate Yanks”  
To which I was like, pretty sure it’s because our country is a raging cunt, but sure, it’s our lack of passion for breakfast tea  
  
Julie: Ah shit, look at you using the c-word.  
  
Carrie: Ireland has convinced me. Cunt, when used without misogynistic connotations, is a fucking great word and I’m using it all the time  
The US can pry it from my cold, dead, cunty hands  
  
Julie: Fuck, I’m being pulled into this taste test, what do I sayyyyyy  
  
Carrie: Just say something more controversial to distract them  
Tell them about how some people microwave water for tea back home   
Say biscuits are cookies actually  
Call it St. Patty’s Day  
Really enunciate the t’s  
  
Julie: … you’re a monster.  
  
Carrie: I’m a cunt and I’m proud of it   
… actually, I have to delete the Patty text, that hurts my eyes and my soul   
  


Several hours later, Luke messages back on his lunch break to ask, “How’d it go?” Julie can’t find the energy to repeat the conversation with him, so she just turns her phone face down on her nightstand and falls asleep.

Still, she doesn’t fully realize how much she’s been substituting her LA friend group with Carrie until the week of Luke’s birthday. They’re on Skype and she’s on the verge of asking what he wants to do for his birthday—she’s found some old Bob Dylan bootlegs that she thinks they could listen to—but then he reveals, “We’re camping in Joshua Tree this weekend.”

“Oh.” So he doesn’t want to spend time with her on his birthday? “I’m guessing you won’t have cell reception?”

“Yeah, we’re going to go commune with some funky-shaped rocks in the middle of the desert, probably won’t even have our phones on.”

He’s not meeting her eyes, which convinces her that she’s not misreading this. Part of the reason he’s going to Joshua Tree is so that he doesn’t have to… she’s not exactly sure what. Talk to her?

Off camera, Alex’s voice calls, “Rehearsal in ten!”

“You wanna stick around for that?” Luke asks.

She doesn’t rehearse with the band over Skype—the lag would make it pointless. Sometimes she watches them rehearse and gives notes, but her inability to participate always hurts deep in some fundamental piece of her musical heart, and she doesn’t have time to spend hours attending rehearsals she’s not actually part of. 

Right now, she _does_ have time, but she already feels the itch of rejection over the Joshua Tree thing and she can’t. “I actually just remembered I’ve gotta go. Have a good rehearsal.”

His face quirks in confusion, but he doesn’t even get out a full goodbye before she hangs up. She knows it’s childish but fuck it—she’s moping and she’s letting herself mope. Luke is supposed to be the one openly and desperately missing her, and she’s supposed to be the one calmly telling him that she’ll be back soon and they’ll get through this. _Everyone_ thought those would be their roles. Not only does she feel hurt every time it seems like he doesn’t really miss her, but there’s an added sting because this isn’t the scenario she’d prepared for.

Obviously she doesn’t want Luke to be, like, doing nothing but uploading sad selfies of himself crying under a pile of blankets. But she’d like it if he occasionally sounded like he misses her enough that he _could_ cry under a pile of blankets.

**Text Chat with** **Carrie Wilson :**  
  
Julie: Do you want to travel somewhere this weekend? Rock of Cashel?  
  
Carrie: Can’t. Going to Berlin, remember?  
I thought you were spending Saturday with Luke?  
  
Julie: Apparently he’s going to Joshua Tree instead.  
  
Carrie: I wouldn’t read into that   
  
Julie: Who said I was reading into it?  
  
Carrie: Me, I’m fucking intuitive  
You should go to the Rock of Cashel anyways. It looks super cool. V instagrammable  
  
Julie: By myself?  
  
Carrie: It’s Ireland. Walk into a pub, make a million friends  
  
Julie: I don’t know.  
  
Carrie: Go on go on go on go on  
  
Julie: Are you trying to Mrs. Doyle me?  
  
Carrie: Yes, don’t make me type the whole thing, my nails are still drying and it’s, like, 23 go ons  
But I’ll fucking do it  
*I’ll get Siri to do it  
  
Julie: I’ll think about it.

Julie debates not going, but her Irish flatmates go home every weekend and she doesn’t want to spend two days by herself trying not to think about Luke. Plus… _here we, here we, here we fucking go._ So she pulls up bus schedules and a hostel booking site and plans a trip.

She makes a whole journey of it, scheduling a stop at Bunratty Castle and Limerick on the way to Tipperary. There’s something strangely fun about figuring out how to make the bus schedules work with the things she wants to do, like she’s playing Tetris with her time, public transportation, and Google maps.

Actually taking the trip is a bit more intimidating. Limerick feels more like a city than Galway does, with taller buildings, more people, and generally more of a metropolitan vibe. (She can’t help but compare Limerick’s O'Connell Street to Galway’s Shop Street, and decides definitively that Shop Street is better. Partly because it’s prettier, but also because it’s becoming _hers_.) Wandering the streets feels overwhelming—what if she gets lost? What if things take too long and she misses her bus? But she starts to realize the power in traveling alone. She’s not particularly interested in most of the top-rated tourist attractions in Limerick and it suddenly occurs to her that, with no one else on this trip with her, she doesn’t need anyone’s permission to skip them. She would rather walk along the River Shannon and just see what random sights she can see. So she fucking does it.

Then she finds her way back to the bus station, because she’s a grown ass woman with a map, and she rides the seemingly endless buses to Cashel, listening to “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” the whole time on loop. (She feels like being on the nose, okay?)

When she reaches Cashel, it’s not as lonely as she expects. She makes friends with some other travelers at her hostel, and when she gets up to the Rock of Cashel in the morning, she makes friends with the tour guide (because she’s on a solo tour. Apparently most people don’t go to medieval ruins on exposed hills in the middle of winter at sunrise? Their loss. Her Instagram photos of the ruins without any people in them are great.)

On the one hand, it’s not like Julie does anything special. She gets on some buses by herself and navigates some new places. But on the other hand, when she gets back to her flat in Galway at the end of the weekend and collapses on her bed, she feels… accomplished. She did a thing completely and utterly by herself, and completely and utterly on her own terms. She spent time by herself… and she likes herself, this independent, competent wanderer that she didn’t know she had inside her.

She might want to try this independence thing again.

The next weekend, Carrie is in Paris and Julie wants to hike in Wicklow. Without a moment of hesitation, she books the hostel and the buses to Glendalough, and she just fucking goes.

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Hot Jackass Guitarist :**  
[online]  
  
Julie:  I know you won’t see this on the day of, but happy birthday! I love you and I hope you have a good time with your rocks.   
  
[Today]  
  
Luke:  the rocks were cool. but it turns out deserts are very cold in the winter at night? who knew that?  
  
Julie: Literally everyone?  
  
Luke: :P  
next year, i’m gonna request that we take the whole day off from the world and just spend it together  
so fucking sick of celebrating my birthday without you  
  
Julie: We celebrated together last year.  
At The Edison, remember?  
  
Luke: yeah, but i spent the whole night trying not to kiss you  
and i almost asked if you wanted to see my birthday suit so many times  
  
Julie: Huh.  
  
Luke: i know, i blame tequila  
  
Julie: I probably would have gone for that.  
  
Luke: … seriously?  
  
Julie: You greatly underestimate how hot you are and how into you I am.  
  
Luke: ditto  
so  
um  
do you wanna get on skype and see my belated birthday suit?  
  
Julie: I have to go to class.  
But tomorrow morning?  
  
Luke:  wear your early birthday suit 

* * *

Julie’s amazed at how quickly she starts to learn Galway like the back of her hand. She’s reminded of what Luke said last year—that study abroad kids decide that wherever they study is the best city in the world. As she skips over the cobblestones of Shop Street, as she memorizes every step of her journey up the canal to the college, as she and Carrie become regulars at the pub, as she wanders out to Salthill Promenade on good(-ish) weather days, as she develops a route through the stands of the Saturday farmers market (pretzel from the bread stand, donuts from the donut man, coffee from the crepe cart)… Yeah, this is the best city in the world.

Speaking purely objectively.

Nights at the pub with Carrie are probably her favorite. Her flatmates laugh at her—“why do people who visit from the States always adopt the habits of old men? Go to a fucking club”—but for her, this is the core of what she enjoys most about her time in Ireland. Everyone she studies abroad with seems to latch onto something different. There’s a guy from Toulouse in their Irish class—a guy whose main personality trait seems to be sports—who centers his time around Gaelic football. There are an embarrassing number of students from the US who, able to drink legally for the first time, seem to think the best part of Ireland is alcohol. But for Julie, it’s about the music. (God, she sounds like Luke.) She can walk down Shop Street at any time of day and encounter countless buskers performing in the street, and even if she and Carrie don’t go into a trad pub, they can hear the music leaking out through the doors. The more the two of them go to trad pubs, the more they start to memorize repeated tunes, and Julie realizes that, even though she’s not performing, she feels closer to music than she’s ever felt in her life. Back home, there’s a divide between the physical spaces where she encounters and performs music. In Galway, it feels like melodies and harmonies are sitting on every surface, like she’s touching the beating heart of music just by walking down the street.

(One of her flatmates raises an eyebrow when she tries to verbalize that. “Galway’s great craic, I guess?”)

“No, I get that.” Carrie nods as they sit at the bar waiting for the trad band to show up. “But for me, my favorite part of Ireland is…” She takes a defensive sip of her Guinness, buying herself time while trying not to reveal that she needs to think. “There seems to be this idea that, like, living your life is somehow more important than your career? As if you’re a human being first, and a person with a job second. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to internalize that, but it’s nice to live in the idea for a bit.”

Julie nods because she gets that. But also… “That’s probably not supposed to be revolutionary, is it?”

“It’s not,” the bartender agrees, eyeing them over a glass he’s polishing. “Your country is fucked.”

Carrie rolls her eyes at him playfully. “We didn’t come here for your commentary.”

“Then why are youse sitting at my bar?”

“For easy access to drinks. Obviously.”

“And Carrie has an Irish homework question,” Julie adds.

She probably doesn’t, but Carrie likes to make up Irish questions to ask him. While both Julie and Carrie’s flatmates are very insistent that they don’t speak Irish and can’t be any help, the bartender grew up in the Irish-speaking Connemara Gaeltacht, identifies Irish as his first language, and is one of the few Irish people they’ve met who doesn’t hedge when he describes his knowledge of the language (“I speak Irish” instead of “I have a few words of Irish”). Carrie has latched onto this as an excuse to talk to him. She pretends she hasn’t, and Julie isn’t quite sure why Carrie thinks Julie is buying the pretense, but she’s still happy to wingwoman.

“Do you not have an instructor for this?” the bartender asks, though he doesn’t really sound like he minds. “Or are you in need of a tutor four weeks into an introductory course?”

“You know what?” Carrie snaps primly. “You can _póg mo thóin_.”

He snorts, which is fair because the only reason there’s any bite to her “kiss my ass” is because Carrie is incapable of keeping attitude out of her voice. “Is that all they’re teaching you?”

“No, I learned that from a shirt at a souvenir shop. Our lecturer won’t teach us anything that’s even remotely inappropriate.”

A mischievous grin lights up his face. “Oh, we can fix that.”

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Hot Jackass Guitarist :**  
[online]  
  
Julie: Nach deas an trealamh capaill atá fút???  
  
Luke: what's that?  
  
Julie: Colm is teaching us Irish phrases!!!!  
  
Luke: who’s colm?  
  
Julie: Hot bartender at our local  
We have a local, Luke!!! We’re #assimilating  
  
Luke: hot bartender?  
  
Julie: That’s what Carrie named him to keep him separate from the others  
I guess we don’t need to call him that now that we know his name  
He knows our drinks!  
We have a usual!  
We are known!!!!  
WE ARE PERCEIVED  
  
Luke: have you been drinking your usual tonight?  
  
Julie: Yes I have it is very yummy  
Did you know that alcohol is less gross when it is apples??  
  
Luke: please tell me you’re drinking water   
you sound like you’re approaching string obedient levels  
  
Julie: Are you never going to let that goooooo? 😞😞😞  
  
Luke: nope   
what did you say to me? i googled it but nothing came up  
  
Julie: 😉😉😉😉😉  
  
Luke: that doesn’t clarify anything  
okay, google translate says it means “isn’t your horse equipment nice?” i’m hoping something got lost in translation because i’m not sure how that’s a ;) thing?  
  
Julie: Google translate is being too literal 😉  
And also mistranslating  
Just think about sexy horse idioms in English  
  
Luke: i love you, but what the fuck is a sexy horse idiom?   
  
Julie: Ughhhh why is it so hard to seduce you in a language neither of us speaks???  
  
Luke: kinda feels like that question answers itself  
  
Julie: Slat atá uaim, nó duine brillín-eolach  
  
Luke: “i need a rod, or a brilliance-savvy person”  
i get the first part, but i’m feeling like google is going off the rails at the end  
even though i’ve explicitly said brillín is an irish word, google is assuming it’s english  
  
Julie: DO YOU KNOW WHY????  
FUCKING ANGLONORMATIVITY  
IT’S A HELL OF A DRUG  
  
Luke: i love that you’re this drunk but you can still yell about anglonormativity   
what’s a duine brillín-eolach?  
  
Julie: You  
  
Luke: i assume you’re saying something super hot but i have no idea what it is  
i like it though. you’re the string obedient woman and i’m the brilliance-savvy person

* * *

Slowly but surely, Julie feels that she’s finding a place here, and that she’s more present. She still has moments where she thinks about the guys or Flynn being there with her, but the ache feels less present. More wishing than longing.

Most of the time.

Instagram is trying to torture her, by showing her the happy faces of people she misses doing cool things without her. Flynn standing at the base of Tititea in hiking gear with all of her flatmates, captioned “Get in, loser, we’re going tramping.” Her brother hovering precariously over a rose bush at the Huntington Gardens while Tía Victoria watches with staged (but also real) horror. Reggie gleefully taking a selfie of the guys outside the Sprinkles ATM, with Willie delighted by the presence of sugar, Alex bemused by why this is a selfie-worthy occasion, and Luke ignoring the camera entirely in favor of licking the frosting off of his finger.

(She’s pretty sure it’s not hot to anyone else, but she finds it very hot.)

She tries not to spend too much time on social media because it makes her sad, but there are days that are harder than others just by existing. Like Valentine’s Day, which she doesn’t care about at all but still suspects will make her feel Luke’s absence a little more acutely. She’s prepared to be lonely and grumpy. What she’s not prepared for is for her phone to wake her up at 7 am by aggressively ringing. Still half-asleep, she answers, mostly to shut it up, and she’s shocked to hear what sounds like a crying Luke on the other end.

“Luke? Are you okay?” She sits up, immediately concerned.

Underneath his tears, Luke’s voice is slurred. “Did you know that you’re my dream come true?”

It’s a lot to wake up to.

“Are you drunk?”

He sniffs loudly. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

In the background, Alex’s voice yells, “Luke, get off the phone! You can’t afford to make international calls!” And she _knows_ that she should tell him to hang up, but, god, she misses drunk affectionate Luke.

Wind starts rattling through the speaker and footsteps pound against pavement. She would bet at least five euros that Luke is currently running away from Alex. But he somehow manages to make his voice somber as he pants out, “We should be together.”

“We _are_ together.”

“Not physically. There’s a fucking continent and a fucking ocean between us and that’s not okay. You know what I should do? I should fucking fight them.”

“You want to fight… the Atlantic Ocean and the continent of America?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna fuck them up. They’re rude. They’re making space between us.”

She realizes that she’s hugging herself like the arms around her are his. And that makes her feel silly and pathetic… but she hugs herself even tighter. “You should hang up. You can’t afford this call.”

A pitiful whimper sounds in her ear, and for a second she thinks a puppy has somehow gotten ahold of the phone, before she realizes that the noise is coming from Luke. “You don’t want to talk to me?”

“I want to make sure you can afford to do stuff when you visit.”

A giant crash reverberates through the speaker, forcing her to pull the phone away from her ear. There’s a loud rustling and then his voice comes on the line, frantic. “I’m so sorry, I dropped you. Did you get hurt?”

“Luke, hang up.”

“But I love you.”

“I love you too, but you need to call me through WhatsApp.”

“But—"

Alex’s out-of-breath voice snaps, “Give me the damn phone!” And the line goes dead.

She sinks back down into her bed, filled with a weird mix of happiness and sadness. Happy to hear his voice, sad to have it ripped away so abruptly. Happy to be reminded that he misses her, sad to be reminded that he misses her.

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **The Voice of Reason :**  
[online]  
  
Julie: He okay?  
  
Alex: We went to what turned out to be a Valentine’s Day themed party. I think all the coupley stuff was making him sad, so he had a few too many  
We’ll take care of him, don’t worry  
  
Julie: You’re the best.  
  
Alex:  In case you were wondering, we’re absolute disasters without you  
You might be better off staying in Ireland where you’re safe  
  
Julie: No, I’d miss you all too much.   
  
Alex: No accounting for taste, I guess  
  
Julie: Hope you and Willie have a good first Valentine’s together! ❤️  
  
Alex:  Thanks! (And thanks for recommending Jones—I think Willie’s gonna love it)  
  
Julie:  I’m not saying you HAVE to take cute selfies of the two of you and send them to me. But please send me cute selfies. 

* * *

In the evening, she gets a call through WhatsApp from a sheepish Luke. “Alex said I made an ass of myself.”

She grins. “What did he tell you?”

“That’s all he said. It was hella ominous.”

“You were crying and saying you wanted to fight the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Because it’s between us?”

She laughs and leans back on her bed. “It’s a bit concerning that you immediately know the logic.” He chuckles, and she feels such a strong tug of fondness that she can’t stop herself from adding, “You also said I was your dream come true.”

No hesitation. “I stand by that.”

Snuggling under her blanket like she can trap all the excess happiness rolling off of her beneath the covers, it takes her a moment to get words out around her smile. “You know you’re mine too, right?”

There’s a long pause, and she can hear the sound of his mouth curling into a grin. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. What are you wearing?”

He bursts out laughing. “I’m trying to do a romantic Valentine’s Day call and you’re turning it into phone sex?”

“Yep.”

“I’m in my hangover recovery uniform.” She can instantly picture the tattered sweatshirt and the USC sweatpants that she got him as a joke for their sixth month anniversary. It’s not at all a sexy outfit—purely domestic comfort—and that’s somehow precisely what makes it sexy. “What about you?”

“Your Yardbirds shirt.”

His voice immediately sounds more alert. “And?”

She’s tempted to say “nothing else,” but lying probably violates some sort of phone sex contract. “My SC pajama pants. But it’s warm in here. I don’t need them.”

He exhales loudly and she can almost picture him biting his lip and squeezing his face the way he does when she says or does something he finds sexy. “Skype?”

“Logging on now.”

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Earl Scruggs 2.0 :**  
[online]  
  
Julie: Did you and Kayla have a good Valentine’s Day?  
  
Reggie: she was out of town

* * *

Some days Julie feels like she and her loved ones are still on the same page, and other days it feels like they’re reading from completely different books in different languages. She feels the disconnect with Luke most acutely, because she never thought she’d feel out of sync with him. But it’s not limited to her boyfriend.

Like at the end of February, when her dad Facetimes her unexpectedly as she’s getting into bed.

“Papa, what’s up?”

He frowns, taking in her clothes. “Oh no, did I get your time wrong? I thought it was ten.”

“Midnight.”

“I’m sorry, _mija_. I just wanted to show you this.” His phone fumbles for a moment as he turns it around.

For a second, all she sees is the empty dining room, until her dad walks around the corner to the living room.

Carlos, Reggie, Alex, Luke, Kayla, and Willie are all sitting on the couches, chatting with one another and laughing. Luke is bouncing his legs as he explains something to Alex, Willie is tucked under Alex’s arm, Reggie and Carlos are making animated arm gestures at each other, and Kayla is attempting to bring everyone’s attention back to what looks like an abandoned game of Fairytale Gloom on the coffee table.

Kayla is sitting next to Luke. Obviously, she’s not jealous of Kayla, but she’s in _Julie’s_ seat and it’s weird to see how easily her space has been filled.

“Look who I found!” her dad calls out.

As soon as Luke sees her, his whole face lights up and he almost trips over himself to get to the phone. “Jules!” He comes to a screeching halt as he realizes that she’s not actually there and there was no point in getting up. Instead, he shoots her an awkward wave.

“Hi.” She’s conscious of the whole room watching them.

“Hi. How was, uh, where were you this weekend? Donegal?“ He pronounces it “don-eagle,” and she bites back a giggle.

“Dunny-gawl,” she corrects. “Beautiful. Cold. Rainy. Carrie and I both sunk in some peat bog.”

Kayla laughs. “I heard you got Carrie into hiking! I would pay money to see that.”

It’s been so long since Uggs in Connemara that it takes Julie a moment to remember that Outdoorswoman!Carrie seems out-of-character to other people. “She’s impressive. Less like she’s climbing a hill and more like she’s forcing the hill to bow in submission.”

There’s a long pause. No one really has anything to say to that.

Jesus. She’s never felt _awkward_ around these people. There have been times when she’s felt out of her depth or unsure of herself, but never completed distanced. She seizes the first thing she can think to say. “Kayla, did you go to that info session on Thornton grad programs?”

There’s another silence, but it’s completely different. Instead of the tension of not knowing what to say, she gets the sense that the whole room has lots to say and is unable to vocalize any of it. Reggie’s cheerful grin drops off his face, Luke and Alex exchange a tense glance, and Willie tries to shrink into the couch. Kayla’s smile turns more forced, like she’s keeping it on her face with glue. “Oh, um, I’m probably not applying to Thornton.”

“Oh.” Julie would ask where Kayla _is_ applying for grad school, but the tension in the room begs her not to, and she clocks for the first time that Kayla is sitting next to Luke because she and Reggie are on different couches. The pause drags on again, and Julie desperately asks, “So, what are you all up to today?”

“We’re celebrating Carlos’s big… well, loss,” Luke shoots her brother an apologetic smile. But Carlos clasps both hands to his chest and collapses back on the couch like he’s been stabbed.

“But it was a very impressive loss, bro,” Willie adds gently.

“Except for—“ Reggie finally pipes up, but Luke smacks him on the arm and gestures pointedly at Carlos.

“Dude, we agreed to pretend that didn’t happen.”

“It was a very impressive loss,” Reggie corrects, robotic.

Kayla starts humming, too quiet for Julie to identify the song through the speaker, but from the way the whole room explodes with laughter, it’s a reference she wouldn’t understand even if she could hear it.

Julie keeps the smile on her mouth by sheer force, aware that her face takes up her dad’s whole phone screen and any sadness will be very apparent. “Well, I should go to bed and let you go.”

Unconcerned, or maybe even relieved, the whole room waves at her and there’s a chorus of “Bye, Julie!” before her father heads back into the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you were still having them over for the monthly dinners?”

Like it’s a given, he nods. “They’re family. And Reggie and Luke wanted to come support your brother at his game. I suspect Alex was more invested in the hot dogs than the baseball, but it was very sweet of them all to come along.” It _is_ sweet, and she wishes she were focusing on how sweet it is instead of how left out she feels. “Luke has been chauffeuring Carlos around because Tía and I have been very busy with work lately, so I owed him some food as a thank you. Someone needs to make sure your boys are eating real meals.”

Her heart seizes up, temporarily overloaded with happiness and love, because Luke never mentioned that he was helping her dad. He just did it, because of course he did. She’s overwhelmed with such a desperate longing to be there in the living room with all of these people she loves instead of alone in her bedroom that, for a second, it almost feels like it’s possible to teleport. Like wishing hard enough could make it so. “I miss you all so much,” she admits.

“But you’re having such an amazing time. So many great experiences. I enjoy following your Instagram.”

And just like that, the happiness deflates from her heart. All she can do is nod and get off the phone as quickly as possible.

The next time she Skypes Flynn, she tries to mention it casually. “I feel like every time I tell people back home that I miss them, they duck it or deflect.” She wishes her voice didn’t sound so small and vulnerable, but it turns out she doesn’t need to worry.

Flynn groans and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been getting a lot of that too. I think people feel like either we’re not allowed to be homesick because we’re ‘having the time of our lives,’ or they need to encourage us to, like, be in the moment. I don’t know. It’s ridiculous.”

The amount of relief that Julie feels is almost embarrassing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Jules, they miss you. They’re just not saying it.”

“Yeah.” But there’s something about having gone almost two months without anyone saying “I miss you” that hurts in some primal, fragile part of her that she didn’t know existed. She keeps wanting to talk to Luke about it, but she has no idea how to start that conversation. “Do you miss me?” sounds too needy. She _knows_ he misses her, especially because he finds dozens of other ways to express the sentiment. But there’s still something deeply painful about him not saying it or talking about it, about feeling like everyone is leaving her on read when she says she misses them. It’s a wound—one for each of her loved ones in LA, actually—and she’s letting all those wounds fester beyond her control.

Intellectually, she knows they miss her. But emotionally, fundamentally, she doesn’t believe that anyone cares that she’s gone.

Flynn gives her a look, like she knows both how much Julie is hurting and how little she can say to make it better. So she very blatantly changes topics. “We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Having the time of our lives?” Julie sighs.

“No! Apartment hunting. All the good stuff is _already_ getting snatched up. If we want a good place by June, we need to start now.”

Engaging in the rather soul-crushing activity that is trying to find simultaneously affordable and practical housing in LA distracts her for the rest of the call. And before they hang up, Flynn catches her eyes firmly through the camera. “Hey, underachiever. I miss the fuck out of you.”

And Julie can’t articulate how good that is to hear. “I miss the fuck out of you, disappointment.”

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Brilliance-Savvy Person :**  
[online]  
  
Julie: What’s up with Reggie and Kayla?  
  
Luke: oh shit, i forgot to tell you  
kayla’s looking at applying to julliard, eastman, and peabody for grad school  
  
Julie: Fuck.  
  
Luke:  yeah. nothing's for sure yet, but her entire list is east coast and midwest schools  
reg is taking it pretty hard  
and i think it’s a bit like… no matter where she ends up applying and going, he’s realizing she’s might be less serious about them than he is  
  
Julie: Shit. That really sucks.  
Kayla’s been really good for him.  
He’s less “I Am A Rock” and more “okay, love is achievable but it doesn’t define me.”  
  
Luke: for sure  
he’s a bit of a wreck at the moment, think he’s kind of pretending it’s not happening  
they’re still trying to figure out if they’re done or not  
  
Julie: Give him a hug for me?   
  
Luke: of course  
not secretly planning on grad school, are you?  
  
Julie: Not unless the band completely fails and I need to “rediscover myself” as an artist.   
But if that happens, where I go is a joint decision.  
  
Luke: i go where you go, boss 

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Earl Scruggs 2.0 :**  
[online]  
  
Julie: Just a note to say I love you ❤️  
  
Reggie: luv u too  
luke told u?  
  
Julie: Yeah. But mostly, I just love you.  
  
Reggie: 💛💛  
skype soon?  
  
Julie: Yes please!

* * *

The Kayla thing is a stark reminder that, while Julie sort of thinks of life at home as being on pause, like everything will be the same when she gets back, life is happening and she can’t do a damn thing to stop it. In three months, she’ll go back home and she doesn’t know what she’ll find or what will be forever changed. What about her will be forever changed.

While part of her is worried about what that means for the band and for her and Luke, another part is—and she can’t believe this is true—worried that her friendship with Carrie is purely an Ireland thing. That it’ll vanish the instant she’s home. Two months of traveling and hiking and getting to know Ireland together, and they’ve never addressed it. 

It’s not until Colm makes an offhanded comment to Carrie one night about “Must have been nice for you to come to Ireland with a good friend” that the façade cracks.

When the bartender goes to serve other customers, Carrie glances over at Julie, jaw ticking. Then she lifts her head, squares her shoulders, and forces out, “I was jealous of you.”

“Freshman year?”

Carrie nods, trying to keep that confident mask in place, but her fingernails tap nervously against her pint glass. “In high school, I was always the most talented one. Then in our first class, you opened your mouth and you had a better voice than me.”

Julie shoves aside her shock. “I did not.”

“You did and you do.”

“Voices aren’t comparable. We’re trying to do different stuff. It’s not a competition.”

“Everything is a competition.” This, Julie suspects, will always be the biggest point of incompatibility between her and Carrie. “Anyways, you sound the way I wish I did.” Carrie doesn’t dwell on the point, but Julie’s acutely aware of what a massive admission it is. “I didn’t know how to handle that and I was an asshole.” She finally ticks her eyes to Julie. “I’m sorry.”

It’s not that it erases any of the rude comments in the past. Especially the attitude Carrie sent toward Luke anytime she’s visited the gelato shop. (Julie can forgive people being mean to her more easily than she can forgive people being rude to service workers.) But Carrie seems different now, and Julie isn’t about to spit in the face of the person who’s been her main lifeline here. She won’t say all is forgiven, but she can admit, “I was jealous of your voice too.” _I wasn’t a dick about it_ remains unsaid but obvious. 

The corner of Carrie’s mouth turns up in a shy smile and Julie realizes how much this has weighed on her for the past two months. Trying to lighten the mood, Julie nods gently at Colm, whose back is to them. “So about that—”

“No.”

“Come on.”

Carrie eyes the bartender for a moment, then shakes her head. “He’s going to be my ‘one who got away’ story. That way, if I never have a solid relationship in my life, I can point to this and say, ‘It’s because nothing ever happened with Colm.’”

“… that doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Ugh, you sound like my therapist.”

“And why pay your therapist to say things you’re going to ignore when you could just talk to me?”

The two girls dissolve into giggles.

So, yeah, she worries about what’s waiting for her when she goes back home. But she’s starting to feel like, no matter what happens, she’ll be bringing Carrie back with her.

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Stringest Obedient Woman :**  
[online]  
  
Flynn:  do you remember when your dad was showing us those pictures from your mom’s NZ trip?  
and there was that photo of her where she was hiking and pointing at something and happy-crying and we couldn’t figure out what she was looking at?   
  
Julie: Yeah  
  
Flynn: turns out it’s near dunedin. i just found the spot where she was standing on the tunnel beach track   
like, i’m standing there right now  
you want to see the view?  
i can’t hug you today, this is the best i could do  
  
Julie: Holy shit, yes  
You’re amazing

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Brilliance-Savvy Person :**  
[online]  
  
Luke: i love you. wish i was there

The instant the message appears on Julie’s phone screen, she swipes over to call Luke through WhatsApp.

“Hey,” he greets her gently.

“That was right at the stroke of midnight. I’m impressed.”

“I prepared.” She doesn’t have anything to say to that, silently noting the grateful squeeze of her heart. Some of the wind around her must filter through the speaker, because he asks, “Where are you?”

“Down at the harbor. I like watching the water. It’s soothing.” She looks out across the harbor at the row of iconic houses, knowing the pattern of colors by heart even though she can’t quite see them all in the dark.

He exhales over the phone. “I wish I was with you today.”

“Me too.” He’d suggested visiting at the beginning of March so she wouldn’t be alone, but she’s still got a couple weeks of classes, and they wouldn’t really have been able to travel and it just hadn’t made any sense.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Think I’ll go to Connemara and hike for a bit. Just be by myself, you know?” For a moment, loneliness swarms over her, its weight crushing. Last year, she’d just wanted to mark the anniversary of her mother’s death by herself, to give herself space to figure out and take care of her own feelings. This year, she’s spent so much time alone and surrounded by unfamiliar things. She would give anything to be home and wrap herself in the arms of her family. To have Luke hold her through the night while she fails to sleep. “I was going to go to Dublin because I know she went to Dublin at least once on tour, but there are too many people there.”

It’s maybe embarrassing how much time she’s spent combing through lists of her mom’s old tour dates, trying to figure out if she might have had time to visit Galway. Had Rose Molina wandered down Shop Street? Visited Salthill Prom? Sunk in a peat bog? Is Julie following a path her mother walked, or is she on her own journey?

The silence drags on between her and Luke. She doesn’t really have anything to say, and he doesn’t seem to either. Back home, silence between them always felt warm and companionable, like it was proof of how well they were suited to each other and how comfortable they were. But now it feels… itchy and sharp. Proof of some fundamental flaw in their relationship.

She suddenly realizes the time. “Aren’t you at work?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Luke, you can’t afford to get fired.”

“Let ‘em fire me.”

“Luke.”

He huffs out a frustrated sigh but concedes. “You think you’ll be sleeping much tonight?”

“Not really.”

“What time are you leaving in the morning?”

“8.”

“Okay, maybe before that, we can… talk or watch something or sit in silence? Whatever you want.”

“We can watch some _Dragon Prince_.” she suggests.

“I’ll call you at 7 your time?” She smiles at that. So many people back home forget about the time difference, or forget the exact difference. She always has to do the math, constantly framing things as “X your time” when she makes plans, because she’s learned the hard way not to trust that other people have gotten the math right. But Luke always just knows.

“6:30 to be safe?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I miss you so much,” she confesses. Surely today of all days he’ll just say it back.

“Just twenty more days. It’ll fly by.” Fly by for whom? “And then I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She slumps in on herself, voice growing faint.

He immediately clocks the shift in her voice, because his “I love you” comes out with a gentle, reassuring tone, even though he clearly doesn’t know what he’s reassuring her about. 

“You too,” she sighs.

Long after she’s hung up, the pit in her stomach remains. Everything with Luke gives her whiplash lately. There are moments when they feel completely normal, and moments when they feel completely disconnected. She misses that soothing sense of being on the same page that she got when they performed or wrote together. But they haven’t performed together in over two months, and they haven’t written together since… well, they’ve given each other notes over Skype a couple times, but it’s not the same as the quiet intimacy of just the two of them writing together in his room or alone in the garage.

Part of her is excited for him to visit, but a growing part of her is terrified. Because once he’s in Ireland, she’ll have to figure out whether the awkwardness is just a side effect of the virtual communication, or whether it’s an actual change in their relationship. What if they can’t find their old dynamic again? What if he’s changed and she’s changed, or what if his feelings have changed, and they can’t ever get back to what they were?

She forcibly shoves it aside. That can’t be her focus today. Today is about her mother. The week leading up to today has been physically and emotionally exhausting, and the next week will be physically and emotionally exhausting. She and Carrie aren’t close enough for Julie to reach out to her, so she’s on her own with this. And the next twenty days will be busy with short trips and St. Paddy’s Day and final essays that need to be written and handed in.

There’s no mental or emotional space left in her to worry about her relationship with Luke right now. She’ll worry about it in twenty days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re confused as to why Carrie is vibing with an OC, let me assure you—I was just as confused and I repeatedly asked them to stop being like this. I’m not in control of the minor ships here. I’m just taking dictation.
> 
> The Irish innuendos courtesy of Coiste na bhFocal Nua because my Irish tutor only taught us incredibly dark pick-up lines. Translations in the second chapter endnotes.
> 
> References in this chapter:  
> • “The Wild Rover” (The Dubliners version is top notch and closer to what it sounds like in a pub, but I’ll cop to being a basic bitch who prefers The High Kings version)  
> • “Go on go on” is a _Father Ted_ reference because obviously there needed to be at least one _Father Ted_ reference (but Linehan can rot)  
> • “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” by John McCormack


	2. Almost Made This Place My Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Trouble (with a Capital T)" by Horslips
> 
> Most of the spelling quirks here are just typos, but in Ireland, it’s lough and in Scotland, it’s loch. Whisky doesn’t have an "e" in Scotland.
> 
> I meant to showcase more Scottish music in that section, but this chapter has been kicking my ass for almost a month and the Proclaimers are my comfort band at the moment. There are more Scottish and Irish bands that didn't make it into the fic in the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2j5V7UUJR9gDNN0ILKYHNs?si=6GvXFwTxTiGtvwarRyuQCw)!

Julie can’t sleep. She’s too nervous.

It’s ridiculous. Why is she _nervous_? She’s been looking forward to the guys visiting since she said goodbye to them at LAX three months ago.

But jumbo butterflies flutter in her stomach as she remembers all the times she called home and they had nothing to say to each other. What if that’s what the next two weeks are like? Awkward silences and inside jokes that she’s not a part of and her favorite people clearly not having missed her and being out of sync with Luke…

She glances at her phone. 5:30. The guys will be landing at Dublin Airport after nine, and then taking a three-hour bus to Galway, so her brain will have more than seven hours to spin in all sorts of bad directions until they get here.

Or…

If she’s not getting any sleep tonight anyways…

She leaps out of bed and throws on the outfit she picked out last night: her most comfortable mom jeans and a crop top that Luke complimented once. Irish mid-spring isn’t really crop top weather, but fuck it. It’s an outfit that looks casual, like she didn’t put any effort into it, but that she knows he likes. Hopes he likes.

Sprinting through the city centre to the coach station, Julie just manages to catch the 6 am bus across country. For three hours, she tries to sleep against the window, but her brain keeps generating new things to worry about. What if they didn’t bring the right clothes for this weather? What if she can’t even participate in their conversations because they keep talking about things that happened while she was gone? What if they make leprechaun jokes? (Please god don’t make leprechaun jokes.) As the green countryside flashes by, the roiling feeling in her stomach grows and grows, like her gut is boiling the nerves inside her until they bubble up to fill her whole body. She keeps checking her phone, like she’ll get messages from the guys, but unless they connect to wifi, their phones are useless in the air. Knowing that doesn’t stop her from checking, obviously. Or from feeling hurt that she’s not getting messages. Worst-Case Scenario Julie is in charge of her brain right now, not Logical Julie.

When she finally arrives at the airport, she hovers outside the arrivals area of Terminal 2, hoping she’ll be able to see them come out. Maybe surprising them wasn’t a good idea. What if she misses them? What if they get on the bus without her and she’s late to meet them back in Galway and—

Four familiar, exhausted guys stumble out of the terminal, and suddenly it’s all worth it. She trips forward, not sure how to announce her presence, but Reggie notices her almost immediately. His jaw falls open and he squeals, “Julie!” and starts sprinting towards her.

Alex takes off after the bassist, yelling, “Reg, no, let Luke go first—”

But Reggie has already reached her. He tosses his backpack on the ground, wraps Julie in a giant hug, and spins her around. She can’t contain her laughter as he finally sets her down. “You didn’t tell us you were coming!” he exclaims.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Alex reaches them and wraps Julie in a decidedly calmer hug. “Great surprise. Sorry about Reggie.”

Willie gets to her next and, as he hugs her, she mock-whispers, “How did they behave on the flight over? Any tantrums?”

“Reggie didn’t like the country music selection on the in-flight entertainment, but we put him down for a nap and he felt much better.”

She lets out a giggle and then finally lets her eyes rest on the fourth guy. Luke stares at her, his posture shy but his face lit up with an awestruck grin. His mop of hair is rumpled from sleep and travel, his eyes are bloodshot and ringed with circles, and he’s wearing his white and brown jerga jacket over what appears to be a shirt with… sleeves? Over the past three months, he’s solidified in her mind the way he appeared when she first knew him—dark cut offs and jeans and a decidedly _cool_ edge to him. But right now, hovering in front of her, he looks like a soft, light, tired puppy.

Alex wraps his arm around Reggie and Willie’s shoulders and tugs them away. “Come on, let’s check whether we have the right change for the bus.”

“But we paid online—OH.”

Luke shakes his head as the three guys very inconspicuously give them the illusion of privacy. But his eyes don’t leave her face. All at once, she’s hit with an extra flurry of nerves. It’s been three months since she last kissed him. What if she’s forgotten how?

She reaches up to put her arms around him, but he’s still wearing his large backpack, so her hands are blocked. Okay, maybe no hands. Letting out an embarrassed chuckle, she tucks her fingers into her pockets. Luke leans down to kiss her, and when their lips finally meet it feels…

weird. Like when you try to connect two puzzle pieces that _almost_ fit but clearly don’t belong together.

But he smiles at her when they pull apart, and she can’t tell whether he felt the weirdness. “Thank god you came here. I had no idea how I was going to sit still for three hours.” He’s looking at her the same way he looked at the presents under the tree on Christmas Eve and the sheer joy on his face temporarily overrides the awkwardness she feels.

Julie leads the way through the car park toward the bus back to Galway. As they walk, Luke starts to sway back and forth and hum under his breath. Before she can place the song, he bursts out, “ _The boys are back in town_.”

Alex and Reggie immediately echo him. “ _The boys are back in town_.”

Julie side-eyes him. “None of you have ever been in Dublin before.” Luke sticks out his tongue and sings defiantly at her, “ _I said the boys are back in town_.”

Willie shrugs at her as the boys formerly known as Sunset Curve start to bounce across the car park, singing “ _The boys are back in town_ ” on repeat.

Luke and Reggie try to stand back-to-back and play the riff that follows on air guitar. But they almost push each other over, failing to account for the weight and bulk of their backpacks.

Julie laughs helplessly. “You’ve been traveling for twenty-four hours. How on earth are you not tired?”

“Oh, I’m about to fall asleep. I may actually already be asleep,” Reggie replies, his voice still perky. “But it’s Ireland, and it’s Thin Lizzy!”

A passing group eyes them, and Julie wants to cringe, aware that the default US speaking volume is significantly louder than the Irish default. And the guys have always been louder than the US default.

But she’s reunited with her boys and, just this once, she’ll allow.

The guys drop their backpacks in the undercarriage of the bus, with Luke the last to go. The instant his bag lands in the storage space, he grabs her hand and spins her into him, cupping the back of her head to kiss her properly. Quick, but deep and familiar. Puzzle pieces that fit.

He breaks away and grins down at her, slightly breathless. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Weaving his fingers into hers, he tugs her toward the bus.

The bus driver eyes the four boys as soon as they get onboard. That “oh, you’re from the US” look. He shoots Julie a knowing smile, recognizing her from the trip over, and then his thick North Dublin accent slides up into a cartoonish attempt at a Cork accent as he looks right at Reggie and says cheerfully, “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!”

Reggie’s eyes bug and his mouth falls open like all his dreams are coming true.

“Reg, he’s taking the piss,” Julie cuts in.

The bus driver shakes his head at her, like mocking tourists is all he lives for and she’s ruined his day. “That’s the best part of this route.”

“They’re jetlagged. It’s not a fair fight.”

With a grin, he waves them into the bus.

Alex and Willie sit in a row together, Reggie across from them, and Luke tugs himself and Julie into the row behind Reggie. Luke plops down in the window seat, facing sideways with his back against the window and one leg stretched out so that his foot dangles off the end of the seat. Julie sits right next to him, and he immediately wraps his arms around her and draws her back to lean against his chest. It feels a bit unreal, being back in his arms after so long, and she has to shift a bit to get comfortable. But then she lifts his wrist to her mouth so she can press a kiss to it and he cups her cheek, tracing his fingers gently over her face. Her skin tingles under his fingertips, like it did back when they first started dating and his affectionate touch was new.

“How was the flight?” she asks the group.

Alex groans. “A Scottish passenger taught Reggie slang, so prepare for him to use a lot of terms he doesn’t understand.”

“Like what?”

Reggie brightens up. “She said I should go up to people in Glasgow and say ‘square go.’”

Alex pinches his nose bridge. “And once again, I beg you to google that before you say it to an actual living person, because she was definitely messing with you.”

Reggie points to Alex and announces petulantly. “Square go!”

“And that might be a correct way to use that phrase, but you don’t know because you have _no context for it_.”

Willie rests his sleepy head on Alex’s shoulder. “Bro, is this gonna be the arvo thing all over again?”

Alex and Luke both groan. For a moment, Julie wants to just sit quietly. Let them have their inside joke. Wallow in the feeling of being left out. But that’s not a viable long-term strategy, so she looks back at her boyfriend. “Arvo thing?”

Luke sighs, like he’s being forced to relive a dark time in his life. “In January, Reggie watched nothing but Australian TV, and he became obsessed with that word.”

“… arvo? Like… afternoon.”

“He just said it all the time. Regardless of whether it made any sense. Like, he would be eating breakfast and announce, ‘It is not yet the arvo.’”

“It was constant. You’re so lucky you missed it,” Alex stresses.

But the pain in her chest disagrees. Maybe it’s ridiculous to feel hurt by this, but how many of these things has she been excluded from? She aims her voice between the seats toward Reggie. “Why didn’t you ever say arvo to me?”

“Because it wouldn’t have made sense without context.”

Alex snorts so loudly that Willie seems temporarily concerned that his boyfriend is choking. “I can’t express enough how much context there wasn’t.”

Luke laughs. “It was just that we knew he was doing it. That was the entire context.” 

Reggie pops his disgruntled, defiant head over the seats. “Hey, Luke, guess what?”

Luke collapses his face onto Julie’s shoulder with a loud sigh. “Fuck, not this again.”

“It’s not yet the arvo.”

Willie groans. “Bro, I can’t explain why, but it feels like you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“Arvo is the best word in the English language. Don’t @ me.”

“Really? _Arvo?_ ”

“I said don’t @ me.”

“But ‘buttface’ is right there.”

Alex’s face sags with exasperation as he looks between his boyfriend and Reggie, but the bassist nods seriously like they’re at an academic conference and Willie has raised a strong counterargument to a paper Reggie’s presented. “That’s a very good point, and I will need some time to think about that.”

“That’s not—okay.” Despairing, Alex throws his hands in the air and collapses back in his seat.

Julie bursts into giggles and Luke squeezes his arms around her more tightly. She glances back at his face—his fucking face, so close to hers—and he beams. “You miss us?” he murmurs.

“You have no idea.”

He kisses her temple, then drapes his jacket over them like a blanket. “Can you teach Reggie something that he’ll actually have context for?”

“Uh…” All she can think about right now is Luke’s warm body wrapped around hers, so naturally what comes out of her mouth is, “Ride.”

Reggie’s confused head pops over the seat row again. “What?”

“It’s sex. ‘She got the ride.’ Or, if someone’s attractive, a person can be a ride.”

Before Reggie can say anything, Alex points a fierce finger at him. “So help me, if you call _any_ of us a ride, I will walk off this bus. I don’t care if it’s moving.”

A giant pout slinks over Reggie’s face, and as he sinks back into his seat, Julie almost thinks she hears him mutter “ _I’m_ a ride” to himself.

Alex, Willie, and Reggie only stay awake for the half hour it takes the bus to get to Dublin. After most of the passengers get off at George’s Quay, the three guys each claim their own row, lie down, and fall asleep. But Luke stays awake, his eyes glued out the window even as he occasionally presses kisses to Julie’s cheek and forehead. With each street sign they pass, he reads the Irish to himself, quietly whispering completely incorrect pronunciations, and it makes her heart squeeze every time.

But she only really becomes aware of how alone the two of them are when the bus is finally on the motorway. Aside from the driver, there’s just one person awake on the bus, a passenger in the front row far way ahead of them. The only sounds are the rattling on the bus, the hum of the road sprinting away under the tires, and the faint sounds of the radio. Luke’s fingers start running back and forth over her arms, and gently drifting up toward her shoulders. Every time his hands slide around her elbow, she’s conscious of how very close he is to her breasts. She shifts slightly, making sure the blanket is covering her completely, shielding her from view. But his gaze stays out the window as his hand runs up and down. Her arms are tingling, her whole body is alert, but maybe he doesn’t even notice?

Just as the thought occurs to her, Luke pulls his attention from the green blur of outside, and he begins lazily applying kisses to her neck. His fingers slip from her forearms to trace over the exposed skin of her midriff.

There’s a surreal quality to the whole thing. She’s tired from her trip over—she can only imagine how exhausted he is—and the relative quiet makes her feel like they’re in some weird dreamlike bubble. He’s here. Luke’s here. The gentle sounds of “Lunatic Fringe” play in the background, and the lazy, psychedelic beats of the song lure her further into the haze where the only things that feel real are his lips and his hands.

Luke’s mouth moves up her neck to suck at her pulse point. She lets out a quiet gasp and pushes back against him. When she looks over at him, his eyes are bright and awake, not at all what she expected. His gaze dips to her lips and he slips the tip of a finger under the waist of her jeans, raising a questioning eyebrow.

When she nods, he grins—it’s probably meant to come out as a smirk, but there’s too much pure joy in it for any suggestiveness to come through. He unbuttons her jeans, pulls the zipper down very quietly, and slowly starts to travel his left hand down her lower belly. His lips travel up and down her neck with greater intensity, burning a trail of silent, open-mouthed kisses.

She’s never thought of “Lunatic Fringe” as a particularly sexy song, but there’s something about it that mixes with the lazy movements of his hand and the wet, firm kisses on her neck and the general exhaustion that the two of them wear deep in their bodies. The perfect soundtrack for a sleepy orgasm.

But when his hand stops teasing and finally slides into place, she lets out a soft moan and he stills. “You gotta be quiet,” he whispers in her ear, eyes darting to the bus driver and the other passenger.

“I will,” she whispers back, but a few seconds later the callus of his pointer finger is dragging over her in just the right way, and she lets out another soft moan. He immediately withdraws his hand.

She pouts at him, but he kisses her cheek. “When we get to Galway.”

“You’re going to want to sleep the instant we get to my place.”

“I’ll sleep now.”

He doesn’t retract his hand fully—it stays tucked in her jeans, a constant reminder. He drifts in and out of consciousness on the journey, and whenever he wakes up, he presses kisses to her neck and runs his fingers over her lower belly, keeping her wired.

When the bus finally starts to drive past the familiar sights of Galway, she sits up. Recognizing what that means, Luke zips her jeans back up. He cups her chin and catches her mouth in a searing kiss, and for a moment it’s so normal that small flicker of hope kicks in her chest.

* * *

After agreeing that everyone will nap before they reconvene, Julie guides Alex, Reggie, and Willie to their hostel before she and Luke head back to her flat. As they walk through the city centre, he takes in Galway like an excited puppy, as if bouncing around a lot will help him absorb all the sights. There’s a part of her that wants to focus on making him fall in love with this place the way that she has, but at the moment there’s a bigger part of her focusing on the feeling of his fingertips dancing over the exposed skin of her back.

After all the build-up, she’s not expecting the awkwardness she feels the instant they get back to her room. It’s their first time being completely alone together in almost three months. What if they’ve forgotten—

He pushes her up against her closed door and captures her mouth in a deep, eager kiss, the kind that doesn’t have to worry about being seen by other people. The kind that really shouldn’t be seen by other people. His hands run hungrily down her body to grip her hips.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asks, breathless.

He shakes his head. “The last time we Skyped, the video glitched and I missed your face when you came. I’ve been waiting all week to see that face.”

She runs her thumbs over the deep circles under his eyes. As wound up as she is, she remembers her exhaustion when she first arrived in Ireland, and she can’t believe that even Luke, the poster boy for I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead But Honestly Probably Not Even Then, is immune.

And, okay, yeah, maybe she’s too nervous right now.

“You should sleep.”

“I don’t wanna.” But his body immediately disagrees with him, swaying in place like he’s too tired to stand. “I didn’t fly across the Atlantic to sleep. I came to eat you out.” She raises an eyebrow. “… and to visit Ireland and Scotland.”

“You can eat me out when you can stand up.”

“I’m not gonna be standing.”

Taking his hands, she tugs him gently to the bed. “Come on. You promised to cuddle the fuck out of me.”

“Julessss,” he whines, though his body again disagrees with him by slipping easily under the covers.

“Luuuuuke,” she mimics back.

He pouts and tugs on her crop top. “Naked cuddles?” he asks hopefully.

As soon as she nods, he yanks off his clothes, not getting out of the bed or taking his eyes off of her. But she tries not to look at him as she undresses. Her stomach is full of those damn jumbo butterflies again, and when she finally stands naked in front of him after all this time, she almost wants to cover her body from view, like he’ll be disappointed—

A throaty groan rips out of his mouth. “What?” she asks.

“You just melt my brain when you look like that.”

She glances down, half-expecting to see someone else’s body. “When I look like what?”

“Like Julie.” He spreads his arms wide, inviting her into bed with a soft, eager expression, and she momentarily forgets to be nervous as she slides in next to him. His arms wrap around her and, at first, the feeling of his skin against hers feels foreign but then she gets a whiff of his familiar smell and she’s home.

She presses her nose to his shoulder. “Do you think you’ll be here long enough that I’ll get to know what you smell like without the vanilla?”

“Wait, do I smell like gelato??” It takes incredible restraint for her not to laugh at his shock. “Fuck, that’s so embarrassing.”

“No, you pull it off.”

Eyes glowing with sleepy happiness, he runs the back of his hand over her cheek. The casual touch makes her heart skip. “You’re here,” she whispers.

“I’m here.”

He kisses her one last time before he lets his eyes drift shut as he snuggles his head into the crook of her neck. And in spite of his earlier protests, he falls asleep almost instantly.

It takes her a few more minutes, no longer used to sharing her narrow twin bed with a warm body, or feeling the puff of someone else’s breath on her face. But before long, the long day catches up with her and she joins him in sleep.

* * *

When her alarm wakes her up two and a half hours later, the first thing she sees are Luke’s bleary eyes blinking at her and an exhausted smile spreading across his face. The simple experience of waking up next to him has always been one of her favorite parts of spending the night at his place—how has she gone three months without that? He tucks her hair behind her ear and studies her face, but his eyes dance in a familiar way that lets her know he’s not fully present.

“What’s in your head—lyrics or a melody?” she asks.

He wriggles his cheek to rest in the palm of her hand. “Melody. For some song about… this.”

“Waking up to find your heart is back home?”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “And you got the lyrics.” He nods in the direction of her phone. “We got time to write?”

“We’ll make time.”

He bites his lip, like he has to physically contain his happiness so it doesn’t escape him. She snags her writing notebook and tucks him under her arm as they begin to scribble down initial ideas. For the next forty-five minutes, she forgets to feel awkward around him.

* * *

Once they’ve collected the guys, she brings them toward the city centre. She does have to fuck with them first though. That’s the first thing she learned in Ireland—fucking with people is a love language.

(Or at least, that’s how she’s choosing to interpret how much she’s been fucked with.)

“I don’t understand. You said the Spanish Arch was the big tourist destination in Galway.” Reggie spins around in the middle of the square in front of Galway Harbour, like he’s expecting an archway to pop out of the water.

Julie tamps down her smile. “Yep.”

“But where the fuck—” The four guys look around the area blankly. Is it necessary to put them through this? No. But Julie spent several weeks at the beginning of the semester following signs to the supposedly famous Spanish Arch and being unable to find it, so now she’s confirming for herself that she wasn’t ridiculous to be confused.

Willie’s the one who spots it, pointing to a tiny, unassuming stone archway tucked off to the side of a restaurant. “Is that—”

“Yep.” The guys stare at her, incredulous. “Look, you come to Galway for the great craic, not for buildings.”

Alex quirks an eyebrow. “Sorry, are you saying that Galway has a _great personality_?”

As if summoned, Carrie appears at Julie’s side. “Galway over Dublin any day.”

“As Angelenos, you should know this,” Julie insists. “The West Coast is always the best coast.”

As Julie introduces Carrie to Alex, Willie, and Luke, Carrie eyes the latter suspiciously. He raises a confused eyebrow, and she raises an eyebrow right back. “I’m vetting you tonight,” she informs him.

“For…?”

“Julie.”

Luke’s mouth falls open, nonplussed. “We’ve, uh, already been dating eleven months.”

Carrie crosses her arms, like he’s already made a mistake. “Eleven? Is that what you want to call it?” His cheeks turn red, and he refuses to make eye contact with Julie, like this is the first time she’s finding out about their sex life. “You weren’t vetted by me. Your test starts now.”

The way she says it makes it sound like Luke has already lost points, and he gulps. From the twinkle in Carrie’s eyes, she’s just messing with him. But Luke doesn’t know how to read Carrie.

“Are you guys hungry?” Julie asks.

Reggie’s stomach growls loudly, not waiting for his mouth to answer.

Carrie looks to Julie. “Pies?”

“Pies.”

The girls lead them on a well-worn loop through the Latin Quarter. A small savory pie from the butcher in Eyre Square Centre and then back to Shop Street for a mini-apple pie from the bakery.

Reggie rests one pie in each of his palms and beams down at the small pies with delight. “Pie squared!”

Luke stuffs a pie in his mouth, but he drifts away from the bakery and back up Shop Street. Julie doesn’t need to guess what’s drawing him away. A small band is busking, and her boyfriend is completely enraptured, his knees bouncing as he sways back and forth. Julie slides up to him just in time to clock the cover the band is doing.

“You a Saw Doctors fan?” she asks.

Shaking his head, Luke doesn’t pull his eyes from the band. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“I think you’d like them.” They eat their pies in silence as they listen, and she finishes just in time to sing the only two lines from the song that she knows. “ _Will Galway beat Mayo?_ ”

“Football?”

“Football.”

“ _I'd kill for a pint of porter_.”

“Really? This country has changed you.”

She grins as she tucks her head onto his shoulder. He immediately wraps his arm around her and rests his head on hers.

“This is the part you’re going to like,” she murmurs as the band heads into the outro of “Hay Wrap.”

The busking guitarist starts playing faster. Much much faster. Luke’s jaw drops open in delight. “Holy shit.” It’s like the band is racing to finish the song, and the guitarist’s fingers blur over the strings and Luke is almost vibrating next to her as he bounces along. He shoots her a giant grin, his smile so close to her mouth, and it’s so normal.

But when the song comes to a close, she yells out a “yeow!” The band grins at her and she flicks a euro into their open guitar case. When she looks back at Luke, the smile has drifted off his face, replaced with an expression she can’t quite understand. “Something wrong?”

“No.” But he nods as he says it, and the contrast confuses her. His eyes are serious in a way they almost never are, so even though she _wants_ to ask, there is a much louder part of her that whispers, _Don’t go there. This is dangerous territory. This is why he doesn’t say he misses you._

Thankfully, Alex calls loudly from back where they left the rest of the group. “Guys, we going inside?”

As Julie and Luke head back down the street, their hands brush, and he glances down at their hands. He hesitates, then tentatively slips his fingers between hers.

The instant their group walks into the pub, Colm glances up and grins. Luke stiffens at Julie’s side. “Hot bartender, right?” he asks, slipping his arm around her shoulder.

“Colm.”

Only then does she register the tension in his jaw. Oh, for fuck’s sake. She would explain, but Luke will get it in about two seconds.

As soon as they reach the bar, Colm directs the majority of his smile at Carrie. “Ready for your Irish exam tomorrow?”

“I’ve definitely got _Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú_.”

He shakes his head. “The state of Irish education in this country, honestly.”

“Why? What do you think I should say in my exam?”

He smirks. “ _Dáir ort? Tá fadharcán chomh tréan agam go leagfainn balla leis_.”

It’s clearly dirty, but Julie has no idea what he’s saying. She’s fairly certain Carrie doesn’t either, but the girl raises an eyebrow and, projecting an air of confidence, replies, “ _Ní chuirim rud ar bith míshláintiúil i mo chorp_.”

Colm’s face immediately turns bright red and he coughs loudly. “Fair play to ya,” he forces out, refusing to meet her gaze. Instead, he ticks his eyes to the guys. “What can I get youse?”

Willie picks a tap at random. “Smithwick’s?”

He pronounces the “w,” and Carrie and Julie automatically correct it. “Smith-icks.”

Colm grins to himself, then looks to Reggie. “Yourself?”

“Um… maybe Guinness? But I don’t like dark beers.”

Carrie sighs loudly, as if she would _never_ make that mistake. “He’ll have a Guinness and Black.”

Colm’s smile grows bigger as he turns to Luke. The guitarist eyes Carrie, like he knows he won’t be able to order anything in front of her without making an ass of himself, and he just nods to Julie. “What she’s having.”

With all the practiced confidence of someone who repeatedly stress-googled “how to order drinks at an Irish pub,” Alex announces, “I’ll have a pint.”

Reggie quirks his head. “Pint of what?”

Colm, Carrie, Julie, and Alex exclaim at the same time, “Guinness.”

The bartender pushes off the bar to pull their pints. As soon as Colm’s out of earshot, Julie turns to Carrie. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh, I have no idea.”

“What did you say?”

“‘I don’t put unhealthy things in my body.’”

Willie snickers loudly and Julie bursts out laughing. A victorious smirk spreads across Carrie’s face. But her aloofness falters a bit when she glances further along the bar. Julie doesn’t need to turn to know that Colm’s probably looking at Carrie, because the girl’s face smooths into a surprisingly shy smile.

Julie nudges her. “ _Is fearr é ná féintruailliú_.” Carrie’s mouth drops open. “I’m just saying.”

Lifting her head primly, the girl points to the one open booth. “Go save us a seat and stop backseat driving my orgasms.”

Julie tugs her boyfriend over to the booth while the others wait for their drinks. As they slot into the table, Luke’s eyes drift back to Carrie and Colm, who are chatting as he pulls their pints. The guitarist’s shoulders visibly relax. Julie nudges him and nods in the bartender’s direction.

“Really?”

Luke at least doesn’t try to feign innocence. “Can you blame me? Dude’s hot. And photogenic.”

“More your type than mine.” Her boyfriend’s eyes tick back to Colm, re-evaluating the bartender, and he gives a conceding nod. “Wait, photogenic?”

Luke rubs the back of his head. “He was in the background of one of your Instagram photos.” Before she can say anything, he interjects, “I only noticed cause I look at that picture a lot.” She tries to remember what photo he’s talking about, but the only picture from the pub that Carrie has posted is pretty normal. Just Julie posing casually. “You just… you looked really happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

He doesn’t meet her gaze, so she gently weaves her fingers into his. “You definitely have.” His eyes raise to her face, and she tries to put on an illustrative smile, hoping it comes across as soft and loving rather than forced. The corner of his mouth twitches up, but he squeezes her hand like it’s a lifeline.

He only releases it when Carrie slides their Bulmers across the table.

When the trad starts, the guys light up. Luke’s eyes wander around the pub with awe, and she can tell that he’s having the same reaction that she did. Trying to figure out how this space makes the music ring like that. Reggie bounces in his seat in time to the music, drawing a reluctantly entertained smile from Carrie. But Alex’s eyes lock on the frame drum.

Willie hooks his arm around his boyfriend and smirks. “You’re drooling. Should I be jealous?”

“What is that?” Alex asks Julie, ignoring Willie.

“A bodhrán.”

“It’s _magical_.”

Carrie eyes him, amused. “You should definitely be jealous,” she tells Willie.

The band decides to wake the crowd up with “Wild Rover” as their second tune. It only takes three notes for almost the entire pub, including Julie and Carrie, to start singing along. Luke eyes her with a strange look—half joyful appreciation, half… she’s not sure what. But she’s distracted by Alex getting into the rhythm and clapping along on his chest. Part of her warms at the realization that she guessed his reaction right all those weeks ago. Like when you randomly pick an answer on a multiple-choice question and get it correct.

The real surprise comes when the band starts playing “Galway Girl” and Reggie instantly sings along.

_Well, I took a stroll on the old Long Walk_

“Reg, you know this song?” Julie asks.

“I love _P.S. I Love You_.”

Carrie sighs loudly, but Julie doesn’t waste breath being annoyed at the film. That would prevent her from singing and she’s not going to not sing along to “Galway Girl” when they’re in a pub in Galway. She doesn’t know how many more times she’s going to get to do this.

_I met a little girl and we stopped to talk  
Of a fine soft day-I-ay-I-ay_

The whole pub joins in for the _ay-Is._

_And I ask you, friend, what’s a fella to do?  
‘Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue_

She and Carrie sing the next lines to each other, grinning at the sheer number of times they’ve taken a whirl (aka desperately fought the wind and rain on their way to) Salthill Promenade.

_And I knew right then I'd be takin' a whirl  
'Round the Salthill Prom with a Galway girl_

Luke leans over, and suddenly she can’t even be mad at _P.S. I Love You_ , because her boyfriend is grinning and singing in her ear. 

_We were halfway there when the rain came down  
On a day-I-ay-I-ay_

It’s the first time he’s sung to her in three months, the first time their faces have been this close when music is involved, that she’s felt his breath on her face and the warmth of his arm against hers, and the song jumps right into her heart.

_She asked me up to her flat downtown_

His grin turns into a smirk and his gaze roams over her body, and the song jumps to… well, lower than her heart.

_On a fine soft day-I-ay-I-ay  
And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do?_

He traces one of his callused fingertips over her exposed knee and her breath catches. Until he sings the next line, scrambling to adjust the lyrics to fit her.

_'Cause her hair was… brown and her eyes were… also brown_

She bursts out laughing, but he keeps singing, determined in spite of the flush on his cheeks.

_I took her hand and I gave her a twirl  
And I lost my heart to a Galway girl_

His gaze softens and if they weren’t in the middle of a crowded pub surrounded by their friends, she would kiss him. He doesn’t know any of the rest of the lyrics, but she’s glad of it, because the final verse is the opposite of romantic. Instead, she tucks her head onto his shoulder and lets him wrap his right arm around her. His left hand stays on her knee, tracing random patterns into her skin.

She clocks for a moment that the images she had of the guys listening to trad on her first night here are coming true—Alex clapping on his chest, Reggie singing with glee, Luke studying what the guitarist is doing. But Julie hadn’t even thought to imagine this simple intimacy, of Luke holding her in the booth and running his fingers over her knee.

Eventually, when the band starts playing another tune she knows, she lifts her head and sings along. But Luke’s hands stay in place—left on her knee, right around her shoulder. And as the night goes on, his grip on her shoulder tightens, his thigh presses more firmly against hers, and his left hand draws bigger loops. It reawakens the part of her that was so alert on the bus, anticipation crawling over her skin. She’s trying to keep up conversation with Alex, Willie, and Reggie, but the three of them are clearly getting more and more tired as travel and jetlag sink further into their bodies. So her mind is drifting more and more to the fingers on her knee.

Luke whispers in her ear, “Can we go back to your place soon?”

“Are you getting tired?”

He shakes his head and squeezes his leg against hers, and as she squeezes back, she’s reminded vividly of the Jukebox the Ghost gig. The anticipation of their first time together after months apart. Their utter desperation for one another. The passion and tenderness mixing on his face. They’ve done a reunion before. What is she so nervous about?

* * *

When the tired group stumbles out of the pub, Carrie leads Reggie, Willie, and Alex toward their hostel, which is close to her place.

Julie grabs Luke’s hand and starts to tug him away from Shop Street. He immediately drapes their connected hands over her shoulder and comes to a stop. They’re standing between the two main trad pubs, caught between the competing music. Luke’s eyes drift to a busker playing away up the street, out of earshot but still visible. A grin takes over her boyfriend’s face. “The streets are, like, alive with music,” he whispers with awe.

Of course he gets it. _Of course_. “I always feel like I’m standing on the heart of music.”

“I love that.” His eyes tick to her. “I get why you love it here so much.”

She beams, because this place has become important to her and she hadn’t realized how much she needed Luke to understand that. How much she wanted to share it with him. She points to the words painted on the sign over the other trad pub. He tries to read it. “ _Craic agus ceol_?”

In Julie’s not-even-slightly-expert opinion, his pronunciation isn’t too bad. “Craic and music. That’s Ireland for me.”

“Two of the most important things in life, right?” Then he leans his forehead against hers and kisses her. It’s sweet and intense, but it also feels a bit desperate, something in the tension of his mouth or the way his fingers cling to her arm. As he pulls away, he stares at her for a moment, like he can’t believe she’s real. “Take me back to yours?”

* * *

The instant they get into her room, he’s kissing her again, wrapping his hands tightly around her body. She stumbles back against the door as his mouth makes its way across her jaw and down her neck.

“What brought this on?” she gasps.

“You.”

“Just me?”

“You’re all it takes.” His mouth smirks against her skin, his breath hot on her pulse point. “But you know I’ve always had a weakness for Confident Julie, and she’s been here all night.”

“Are you sure you’re awake enough to—” He grinds against her and she has to catch her breath, her knees fumbling as she tries to stay standing. There’s no room for the nerves she felt earlier under the intensity of his attention. This isn’t the Luke who avoids saying “I miss you.” This is the Luke who has always been putty in her hands, who looks at her like she’s some kind of goddess, and his reverence makes her dizzy. “What do you want to do?” 

Pulling his lips up to her ear, he whispers, “I wanna bow down to my queen.”

Her whole body tingles, but… “You’re probably only gonna get, like, twenty minutes before your body realizes how tired you are. So, choose carefully.”

He shoots her a look, the look he normally reserves for when his face is between her thighs, and her breath shoots out of her lungs again. “I did.”

And, with a playful wink, he drops to his knees.

* * *

**Text Chat with** **Carrie Wilson :**  
  
Carrie: Okay, I approve of Luke  
You two are incredibly gross together, in case you were wondering  
I’ve already put money down that you two will be engaged by the time you graduate  
  
Julie: … there’s a betting pool on that?  
  
Carrie: Me, Reggie, and Willie  
Alex thought it was “tacky” or whatever  
But it’s just a smart financial decision  
Like, I fucking love being single  
But the way Luke looks at you was making me feel lonely  
  
Julie: I know someone who can help you with that 😉  
  
Carrie: STOP.  
Maybe though  
Strictly for orgasms  
If Colm tries to give me heart eyes, I am walking out  
  


* * *

The next morning, Julie wakes up in Luke’s arms. As soon as he realizes that she’s awake, he peppers her face with kisses, leaving her breathless and giggling. As a way to start their one day alone together, it’s pretty perfect. Willie, Reggie, and Alex are doing a day tour to the Cliffs of Moher while Julie takes her Irish oral exam, but Luke insisted on staying in Galway with her. (“You said the Cliffs were touristy.” “Yes, but you’re a tourist.” “But I’d rather spend the day with you than go see some boring old majestic cliffs.”)

As they walk up the canal towards campus, he bounces at her side. It’s an image she’d never thought of, and now she knows she’ll carry it for the next two months every time she makes this journey alone.

“So this has been your daily walk? I like it.” Delighted, he peers down into the canal as a swan and her cygnets swim alongside them. He tries to walk faster to match their pace. “I’ve always wanted to come to Ireland.”

“Oh no. Are you one of those?”

“One of what?”

“‘I’m one-sixteenth Irish,’” she mimics.

He pulls a face and shakes his head. “Nah, but my parents say that all the time. They also celebrate St. Patty’s Day.” Grabbing her hand, he twirls her, like he’s too full of energy for either of them to be still, and she stumbles into his chest with a giggle. She walks backwards for a bit so she can keep facing him, and he gently grips her forearms to steer her.

“Did you explain that it’s _Paddy_ and that Patty is a meaningless monstrosity?” she asks.

“They didn’t care.”

It’s not the _best_ reason she has for disliking his parents, but it still goes on her mental list.

“Do you know what part of Ireland their ancestors are from?”

“I can pretty much guarantee that it’s Boston.”

She snorts. “Classic.”

He takes in her confident backwards skip with a soft smile. “So, no regrets about coming here instead of Manchester?”

The Julie who was going to study in Manchester feels like a Julie from a different life. She probably would have enjoyed it, but it’s a bit like being at the Jukebox gig with Nick and Luke—maybe there’s another lifetime where Nick was right for her, but once she met Luke, the alternative was completely uninteresting. Manchester is celery. Galway is chocolate cake.

She settles on “I doubt Manchester has the best craic.” 

Julie stumbles her way through her Irish oral exam, feeling like she probably pronounced _dia duit_ 60% accurately, and when she leaves the building to see Luke waiting, she can’t contain her grin. It’s the same thing he does back home if he’s free when she finishes an exam: waits outside with a kiss and his stubborn, unwavering belief that she did a good job.

After studying the cloudy but currently rainless skies, she asks, “Do you want to walk to Salthill?”

“Are you asking if I want to take a whirl ‘round to Salthill Prom with a Galway girl???”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t count as a Galway girl, but otherwise yes.”

He slides his hand into hers and she tugs him towards Salthill. At first, the lightness of the morning gives her hope that they’re past whatever awkwardness kept popping up the day before. But the longer they hold hands, the more it starts to feel… off. His fingers rub weirdly against hers, and she keeps twisting and readjusting. After several minutes of her fidgeting, he wraps his hand around hers so their fingers aren’t entwined. But that starts to feel claustrophobic and she wiggles her fingers back between his. His gaze keeps slipping to their hands, but he doesn’t say anything about it and she feels like she’s supposed to say something but what is she supposed to say and why does it feel weird and by the time they get to the Blackrock diving tower, her stomach is in knots. This feels like a sign. There’s something wrong. Or she’s forgotten how to hold hands. Or _he’s_ forgotten how to hold hands. Or it’s a _sign_ …

Luke sits on the stone steps that face the Atlantic Ocean and tugs her down to rest between his legs. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, he buries his face in her shoulder. “You good?” he asks softly.

She can only nod.

His body stays tense, so she knows he doesn’t believe her, but he turns his focus to the water. “It’s weird. We were at El Matador Beach the other day. West Coast, looking out over an ocean. It’s weird how different this is.”

“Different west coast, different ocean.”

“Yeah.” There’s a long silence, then he swallows audibly before he adds, “You’ve really made a home for yourself here. I’m, uh, very lost.”

She points east. “We’re 40 minutes from the Spanish Arch.”

Why did she say that? He doesn’t care.

They sit in silence—prickly, awful silence—for another moment before he pulls her notebook out of his back pocket and tosses it on her lap. “Wanna write?”

Oh thank god. Something they can talk about. Something that’s them. She opens to the song they started yesterday. All they’d come up with was a rough chorus. But now there’s an extra verse scribbled at the bottom of the page.

“I, uh, woke up in the middle of the night and that was in my head. I was thinking, duet? I get a verse, I solo the chorus, then you get a verse and you solo the chorus, we alternate lines for the bridge, and then we only sing together for the final chorus? Once we’ve, you know, reunited in the narrative of the song?”

She nods as she reads his lyrics. Or tries to read his lyrics. The handwriting’s… well, she knows his handwriting by now, so it’s legible to her even if it’s tragic, but what he’s written is less lyrics and more a synopsis of what lyrics should be.

_~~Left behind with the ache of the memories~~ Cliché, need a better way to phrase it, but somewhere in that ballpark? Like, the ghosts of you in all these places and trying to carve out a temporary life while you’re being haunted?_

It’s like catching a glimpse of his diary, and she tries to keep her voice light as she remarks, “Haunted is a strong word.”

He squeezes her tightly. “Good haunted.”

Her mind whirrs as she tries to piece that into the song. “We could mirror that in my verse. Because I keep picturing you guys here experiencing stuff with me. Kind of like I’m haunted by what could be?” She finally looks back at him, checking for his reaction.

“While I’m being haunted by what has been.” He smiles, his eyes not focusing on her at first. In the way he does when he’s writing and he’s trying to leave his body behind to just exist inside his brain. He blinks and comes back to earth. “What have you pictured me doing?”

“Everything. Listening to trad, hiking in Connemara, trying the teas at Cupán Tae.”

A grin starts to worm its way across his face. “What tea did I like?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I need you here to fill in the gaps.” He nuzzles her shoulder with his nose. “Maybe that’s what happens in my parts of the bridge. Rewriting my daydreams with the reality of you.”

“That’s a lyric, get that down.”

She quickly scribbles it on the page, but she can’t get his earlier words out of his head. “Let’s focus on your verse though. What does ‘good haunting’ mean to you?”

He shrugs, in the way people do when they’re not at all confused. “You know. Good memories everywhere. And… I dunno. Like, my phone, you know?”

“That wasn’t a sentence, so no, I don’t know.” She tries to balance teasing with gentle encouragement, and she’s not sure she nails it, but he huffs out a breath and his lips turn up.

“The first few weeks you were gone, I was avoiding doing things because I wanted to be around my phone in case you messaged me. So, being haunted by the possibility of talking to you.” He scrambles to correct himself. “But haunted in a good way.”

“When did you stop doing that?”

“End of January, I guess? The guys started forcing me to go places where I couldn’t use my phone.” His eyes tick to her, and it clicks. Joshua Tree. But before she can ask him about it, the inevitable Irish rain starts to fall. Julie instantly jerks her hood up with practiced ease and tucks the notebook inside her jacket. She pops to her feet and holds out her hand.

Luke eyes her hand nervously, but he takes it. Their hands stay linked for the entire journey back toward the city centre, and she doesn’t adjust their hands once.

After they go to Cupán Tae (now that he’s raised the question, she wants to know what his favorite tea is), they buy an armload of biscuits, because Luke insists that he needs to try every single kind so he can figure out which is best.

When they get back to her flat, she feels no awkwardness at all about changing in front of him: swapping her dress for his Yardbirds shirt and her pajama pants. They collapse onto the bed, and Luke works his way through the biscuits as Julie scribbles down her initial thoughts for her verse.

“I like rich tea,” Luke observes as he eats another.

“Ooh, controversial.”

He eyes the biscuit, like he’s expecting it to start yelling misogynistic phrases. “Is it?”

“Apparently.”

“It tastes like animal crackers.”

“They’re not a good dunking biscuit. Fall apart too easily.”

Luke shoves the whole thing in his mouth. “Good eating biscuit though.”

She shakes her head at him and turns back to the notebook. He snuggles his face against her arm, but his eyes aren’t focused on the page. Instead, he’s kissing his way down her shoulder. She tries to keep her mind on the song. “I think the alternating lines at the start of the bridge should continue the separate stories we were telling in our verses?”

“Mhm,” he agrees as he lifts her shirt and presses open-mouthed kisses up her stomach. 

“And then as it goes on, the lines start to echo each other?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs as his head nudges higher.

“I’m feeling like your attention has wandered.”

“Mhm.”

She laughs and runs her hands through his hair as he slides his mouth up to capture her nipple. Setting the notebook aside, she lets herself bask in his attentions for a bit before she observes conversationally, “You know, it occurred to me that we can’t celebrate our anniversary eve properly this year.”

He pulls his mouth free. “Anniversary eve?”

“The night before we got together. Or rather, the all-nighter.”

A smirk slides up his face. “What, you wanted to recreate it?”

“Only seems right.”

Trailing kisses across her chest, he heads to her other breast. “And this is our last night alone before we’re in hostels for the rest of the trip.”

“Well, I got the two of us a motel room for the last night in Glasgow.” He grins, a mixture of soft and heated, and she can’t stop herself from grinning back. “ _But_ you’ll be flying the morning after, so you’ll need to sleep that night.”

“Yeah, definitely if we’re alone in a room together for the last time in weeks, I’m gonna want to sleep. Top priority.” He swirls his tongue around her other nipple to emphasize the point.

Her voice comes out breathy but she desperately tries to stay on track. “I’m just saying. If we want to properly celebrate our anniversary eve, tonight’s the night.”

“Jules, if you want to fuck me a bunch of times, you just have to ask. You don’t have to make up a holiday.”

She flicks his forehead. “I’m not making up a holiday. I’m suggesting a way to celebrate an existing holiday.”

“Then I’ll ask. Do you wanna fuck me a bunch of times? For posterity’s sake.” He starts to kiss his way back down her stomach.

“Just for posterity?”

“I also wanna see if you taste different in Ireland. For science.”

She laughs. The movement of her body brings her pelvis closer to his face, and she can feel his breath through the fabric of her pajamas. “You did this last night.”

“Any decent scientific experiment has to be repeatable, right?” He smirks at her as he starts to tug her pants off.

“I don’t think you can call this decent. Or science.”

“Course it’s science. I am a scientist.” He speaks with a peculiar rhythm and that familiar smile that usually proceeds him launching into a song, and luckily it only takes her a moment to guess where his mind is going. 

She smacks her pointer finger to his lips. “You _can’t_ sing the Dandy Warhols before you go down on me.”

He pouts. “Since when has that been a rule?”

“You know most people don’t sing during sex.”

Luke swoops back up to her face and gently plants a kiss on her nose. “How sad for them.”

Before he can retreat, she catches his cheeks and pulls him in for a kiss. He curls one hand behind her back, tugging her chest tight against his. No space between them, just the way she likes. Fuck the Atlantic Ocean.

When they separate to breathe, she gasps out, “Anything but that song. I love you, but I can’t fuck you if you sing that _at my crotch_.”

He nudges her nose with his. “I dunno, boss. Sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s very much not,” she insists, but he’s sliding back down her body with a devious grin. In a desperate bid to distract him as he settles between her legs, she adds, “This is you being a _duine brillín-eolach_.”

He takes in the view from his current position. “This?”

“Among other things.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what it means?”

“It’s funnier that you don’t know.” Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but she thinks his jaw tenses. So she runs her fingers through his hair, mussing it up. “My brilliance-savvy person,” she murmurs fondly, drawing a lazy smile from him. Then: “Get back to your experiment.”

“So bossy.”

“I am the boss.”

He licks his lips. “That you are.”

They don’t end up making it outside for dinner or before shops close, so their dinner is a feast of biscuits. Nutritionally, it’s a terrible decision. But she stands by it. After all, they’ve got a holiday to celebrate.

* * *

In the morning, things feel more normal between Julie and Luke… normal enough that they don’t get out of her flat until after they’ve had very fumbled sex in the shower.

When they finally meet Alex, Reggie, and Willie at the bus station, the guys aren’t impressed. Reggie crosses his arms. “Nice of you to show up, it’s almost the arvo.”

“That’s not—okay, actually, I’ll allow that one, you two were very late.”

Luke just loops his arm around Julie’s shoulders and drops a kiss on her forehead.

They settle onto the bus without any awkward shifting around this time. It’s not that the awkwardness is fully gone—there are still moments, like when the guys reference something that she missed or when Luke gives her those looks she can’t decipher. But music and sex have always been their bridges, the first paths they used to find each other. They may not be fully back to how they used to be, but she can _feel_ that they’re on their way back to each other.

Julie wants to hold onto every second of the guys’ trip, to stock up on memories for the six weeks after they leave, but once they get on the bus to Connemara, it feels like someone stumbled into the fast forward button of life, and the trip is flying forward, leaving only snippets behind.

Like when Reggie yells, “Why is the ground trying to eat my feet!”

Alex sighs heavily and Willie steps in to keep the peace, voice gentle. “Bro, do you remember when Julie said there was a peat bog here and we needed to avoid it?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And remember when Julie said ‘Hey, that’s bog, don’t step in it?’”

“Oh yeah.”

Or like when they stop at Derryclare Lough, Julie’s favorite spot in Connemara, and as she takes in the familiar, beloved sight of the lough ringed by mountains, Luke comes up behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. 

“I hope my mom visited here.” It’s not the first time she’s had the thought, but it’s the first time she’s verbalized it, and the first time someone’s given her a hug afterwards.

Or like when they take the deserted late afternoon bus down to Dingle and, while everyone else is napping, Luke slips his hands up her dress and gets her off. (She keeps her moans quiet this time, and when they get to their hostel, she tugs him into the bathroom and drops to her knees.)

When they get to the Ring of Kerry, Julie’s overwhelmed by all the beautiful sights, but the two things she remembers most clearly are Willie’s laments that he can’t skateboard the twisty road through the Gap of Dunloe, and Reggie’s delight when they discover the Charlie Chaplin statue in Waterville. (“He got a statue just for coming here on vacation a lot?? This is the level of fame I want. Can we get statues??)

Julie has been looking forward to visiting Cork since she got to Ireland, but at breakfast, she catches sight of the “You have an upcoming flight!” email notification on Luke’s phone and it’s like her stomach got ripped from her body and slammed into a brick wall. How are they already at the midpoint of their trip? The guys _just_ got here. Her relationships with them haven’t become normal yet. They have flashes of being normal mixed in with flashes of being awkward and the guys can’t leave until that’s fixed.

Cork is a blur, painted over with all her worries, and she gets on the early bus to Dublin the next morning with great trepidation. Luke doesn’t seem worried at all—he’s sleeping with his face pressed against the window, gently snoring. She tries to write her verse of their song, but the only words that are coming to mind are “You can’t go, you can’t go, you can’t go.”

Which is why it takes her half an hour to realize that Reggie isn’t sleeping. He’s sitting by himself staring at his phone, like he’s hoping that he can force the phone to send him a message if he just glares at it enough.

Julie considers herself an expert on that look.

“You okay?” she asks quietly as she slides into the seat next to him.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to lie, but then he sighs. “I need to break up with Kayla.”

“I’m sensing a but?”

He takes the cover off of his phone and immediately slips it back on. Takes it off again, slips it on again. His voice comes out quiet, unsteady. “She likes the banjo.” Julie has to tamp down her laugh because it is absolutely inappropriate. “And she hates onions. So I always get to eat her onions when we go out to eat. Where am I going to find someone else who likes the banjo and hates onions? There are a lot more people who hate the banjo and love onions.”

Julie rests her head on his shoulder and sighs, searching for the right words. “But maybe the next person will hate pickles and you’ll get all of their pickles. Or they’ll love… the accordion and you’ll realize you have a passion for accordion that you never would have known about.”

Reggie slips his phone out of its case again, and when he pops it back on, she gently takes the phone from him. “Did Luke introduce you to the accordion?” he asks.

His tone is so serious that she laughs. “No, but… I dated a couple people before Luke, and they had qualities that I liked that he doesn’t have. Luke has different qualities. Stuff I never would have thought to ask for from a partner until I met him.” Her number one hype man. Her writing partner. Her performing partner. The guy who keeps her from getting too serious, who makes sure she takes care of herself, who teases her and believes in her utterly and completely. She nudges Reggie. “You’ll find someone else, and they won’t be like Kayla, but they will be uniquely themselves. Maybe you won’t get to eat their onions…” She trails off, because it sounds like a euphemism, and shakes her head to clear the distraction. “But they’ll teach you accordion. And you’ll be happy in ways you didn’t know you could be.”

Reggie rests his head on hers. “You are wise, Young Julie.”

She spins her eyes to try to see him without moving her head. “But?”

He huffs out a sigh. “I’m not trying to sound bitter. But there’s Alex and Willie, and you and Luke. It would be one thing if I was about to be the only single friend, but I’m about to be the only single friend _whose friends are all basically married_. I’m very happy for you, but your relationships are perfect and that can be exhausting to be surrounded by sometimes.”

“No relationship is perfect.” She means to keep it light, but a sigh must enter her voice because Reggie abruptly moves his head off of hers. He glances back at the sleeping Luke, confirming that her boyfriend is unconscious, but still lowers his voice.

“You and Luke okay? He didn’t say anything.”

“We’re good. I just…” If Reggie was open and honest, then she can be too. “I guess I thought he would miss me more than he did.”

Reggie’s face crinkles up, holding in a laugh. “… how much did you think he would miss you?”

“The point is, no relationship is perfect and none of us are married. Luke and I just hit some artificial commitment milestones early because of the band. Like, I wouldn’t have a key to the house yet if I didn’t need it for rehearsal.”

Reggie snorts. “You definitely would.” Tilting his head in confusion, he studies her. “You _do_ get that you’re it for him, right?”

She knew that last year, felt it every single day before she went abroad. But now? Even if things are less awkward between them at the moment, it still feels significant: the way he’s never said that he misses her, the way they’re taking so long to reconnect, the way he sometimes looks at her like he doesn’t understand her anymore.

But she’s not getting into that with Reggie, so she nudges him again and says, “We’re already dating. You don’t need to wingman us.”

Reggie yawns and rests his head back on hers. “I’ve missed you.”

Maybe her heart shouldn’t feel so warm, but it does. “I’ve missed you too.”

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Stringest Obedient Woman :**  
[online]  
  
Flynn: just wanted to check that you’re enjoying your time with the guys and not counting down the days until they have to leave   
  
Julie: … wow, you cut right to the chase.  
  
Flynn: i’m efficient. stop moping and go make out with your boyfriend  
  
Julie: I can multitask.  
Did you email the First Choice Housing people?  
  
Flynn: stop deflecting  
i will deal with the apartment hunt, go put your face on his face  
do not mope WHILE making out with your boyfriend  


* * *

Dublin is weird for Julie. She wants the guys to settle into the same opinion she has—Dublin is cool, but Galway is better—but she still wants them to enjoy the city. 

They don’t disappoint. Willie giggles with delight at the Book of Kells, murmuring “Why aren’t all books this fancy and colorful? (He’s less impressed by Dublin’s streets, deeming them “bad for boarding.”) Reggie proves to be the best pint puller of them all at the Guinness Storehouse, which is the kind of thing that is both completely surprising and completely unsurprising. And Alex stares in awe at the Oscar Wilde statue for a solid five minutes, his hand on his heart. Normally Julie isn’t too fussed by statues of white dudes, but Wilde is lounging back on a rock with a smirk on his face and it’s just a very excellent statue. It never fails to make her smile, but Alex bursts into happy tears and his boyfriend immediately wraps him in a hug.

“Pride?” Willie asks, knowingly.

Julie _thinks_ that Alex is trying to say, “I’m so fucking proud to be gay,” but it comes out “I’m so fucking gay” through his sobs, and honestly, that seems like an appropriate reaction to that statue.

Luke is, as she expected, enthralled by Temple Bar. As they head to a fish and chips shop for dinner, he slows down to listen to a band busking in the street. Julie pauses at his side. As he nods his head and bounces his knees along to the music, he shoots her a smile.

“It’s rad how buskers here aren’t treated like they’re assholes. Back home, it’s like, buskers are being a nuisance making noise in the streets. Here, it’s…”

He can’t seem to find the words, so she supplies them. “ _Craic agus ceol_.”

Not looking at her, he swallows. “You sure you wanna move home at the end of the semester?”

“I think immigration would have an opinion if I didn’t,” she jokes, but he doesn’t react. So she tries to send him a sweet smile, but he doesn’t look over. “There’s a lot I miss. But maybe I’m a little less attached to the idea of spending the rest of my life in LA.”

He goes still. “So you _do_ wanna move back here?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just… less attached to LA.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, and she can’t read his face. Forcing a smile, he gestures at the buskers. “This band is killer.”

They have CDs for sale in their open guitar case, so Julie skips forward, drops in a ten euro note, and snags one. “Belated birthday present.”

“Holy shit, an actual CD.” He traces his fingers over the name on the front, Mutefish, and grins. 

“Next year I’ll make you a mixtape,” she promises.

He smirks. “A mixtape? I think someone’s got a crush on Luke.”

Alex chooses then to reappear with a loud, disappointed groan. “You are adults who have been dating for almost a year. Is this seriously how you talk to her in private? Julie, you deserve better.”

She shakes her head and tugs Luke along. “Come on, let’s get to that chipper.”

* * *

The next night, they head to Dublin Airport, with Julie, Alex, Reggie, and Luke traveling on to Scotland and Willie going back home for his internship. How has it gone so fast? How are they already back at the airport? How are there so few days left before she’ll be saying goodbye to them all again?

She’s wrenched out of her reverie by Alex and Willie, who are saying goodbye outside Terminal 2 with a much longer hug than she would have expected. Alex is… crying as he clings to Willie?

“You’re going to see each other in a week,” she points out with a gentle laugh. Or maybe it doesn’t come out gently, because this goodbye feels theatrical and she and Luke have been apart for _three damn months_ and what’s a week?

Alex releases Willie and shoots her a look she can’t decipher. It’s like she’s put her hand on something hot and only realized after the burn sets in. Luke shakes his head at her, mouth tense, and she swallows the discomfort.

* * *

Watching Ireland retreat as their plane takes off over the Irish Sea, Julie feels a gentle pang in her heart. Like she’s leaving home behind. How weird that you can come to belong somewhere so quickly. She tears her gaze away to take in her seat partner, Alex, who’s flipping through the in-flight magazine without actually looking at the pages.

“You okay?” she asks gently.

“Oh. Um.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

Alex sighs. “It’s silly.”

“I doubt it.”

The drummer jerks his head back in the direction of the airport, as if they can still see Willie from the air. “After his internship finishes, the company is offering him a job.”

“That’s awesome!”

“In Northridge.” Oh. Alex looks over, guilty. “I know it’s not that far. It’s literally still in LA County, but—”

“It’s an hour away. And with traffic, it’s a century.” He curls up the corner of his mouth in a bitter smile. “You’re allowed to be sad about that.”

“It’s not the worst long distance in the history of the world,” he admits, eyeing her.

“Neither are me and Luke. And it’s not a competition. It’s probably going to suck sometimes. It doesn’t have to be the worst thing in the world to suck.”

Alex sighs. “I just got spoiled by us living so close together. I get that this is what adulthood is—people move further apart and they get busy and you have to put effort into seeing people and staying in touch but…”

“It sucks.”

“It sucks.”

She nudges him. “Why don’t you just move in together?”

Alex’s eyes bug and he shakes his head. “He hasn’t asked. I’m not going to ask.”

“Someone has to ask.”

“Not me. Clearly Willie. He’s less terrified by… everything.” A giggle erupts out of her, and he reluctantly joins in. “Besides, the band has to stick to a similar area for rehearsals.”

Julie squeezes his hand. “Well, the instant we graduate, I’m sure Flynn and I will be down for moving to the Valley.”

Alex tilts his head, his face scrunching up as he opens his mouth, but the in-flight service announcement starts and interrupts him. She wants to rest her head on his shoulder like she did with Reggie, but Alex doesn’t like to be cuddled by people who aren’t Willie. He has a different love language. So when the announcement ends, she nudges him.

“Next year, when you ask Willie to move in with you—”

“Again, why does it have to be me?”

She barrels on ahead, ignoring the interruption. “—do you want me to help?”

He eyes her, dubious. “How can you help?”

“I can help you write the text.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an in-person conversation.”

“Are you going to be able to have it in-person?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I will be there with you hiding behind the phone and texting him. A key member of Operation Willex Moves In Together.”

He beams at that, losing himself in whatever daydreams he’s having about living with his boyfriend. Then he eyes her fondly. “Please come back to LA soon. I miss having someone to talk to who isn’t ridiculous.”

And she stores that away in her heart in case she doesn’t get to hear it again over the next seven weeks.

* * *

**Text Chat with** **Carrie Wilson :**  
  
Carrie: I’m telling you this now because I refuse to see your face when I admit this  
But I may or may not have gotten the ride  
  
Julie: Yessss  
Wait, may or may not?  
  
Carrie: Did  
Like, every night for the past week  
But only because I forgot to charge my vibrator!   
  
Julie: For seven days?  
  
Carrie: My charger was, like, all the way over there.   
  
Julie: Sure, Jan.  
How was it?  
  
Carrie: I mean, I went back every night this week, so…  
  
Julie: Proud to know you  
  
  


* * *

In Ireland, Julie knows that there’s a chance that her mother has been to each place she visits, but it’s mostly a background awareness. Speculation rather than an actual presence. In Scotland, she _knows_ her mother has been here, and her head is on a swivel, trying to make sure that she takes in every possible sight so that she’s seen everything her mother saw.

(Never mind that the time between their visits will have changed things. Julie can’t think about that.)

It’s a relief that their first stop is in the Trossachs. She needs time to prepare herself for Glasgow, where the specter of her mother looms so large. And the guys are a good distraction. As their bus passes the first bilingual sign, Reggie points out the window with his mouth open.

“That’s like Irish but not!”

Alex facepalms loudly. “Scottish Gaelic, Reggie.”

“They call it Gaelic here,” Julie adds. “But I think they pronounce it ‘Gal-lick.’”

Reggie tilts his head. “But in Ireland, when people say Gaelic…”

“They’re talking about Gaelic Football.”

“Which is… soccer.”

“Yeah, but Gaelic is sort of a blend of soccer and rugby.”

Reggie groans and drops his head into his hands. 

“There’s gonna be a test later, Reg,” Luke quips. “Hope you took notes.”

She nudges her boyfriend in the ribs, but he grins at her unrepentantly, squeezing his arm around her shoulders more tightly. His gaze slips to her lips and she has to shake her head slightly. It’s been five days since their last hookup, and with him pressed up against her like this, even a single kiss has the potential to make her act irresponsible. Her mind knows that her bandmates are in the row across from them and can see everything they do, but her body does not care about that at all.

So instead she asks Reggie, “Do you know Julie Fowlis?” He shakes his head, so she tosses him one of her earbuds. “Gaelic singer. As a country lover, I think you’ll like her.”

She tucks in the other earbud and hits play on her phone. Luke kisses her shoulder to draw her attention and pouts up at her.

“I don’t get to hear?”

“No, because you’re teasing.”

The hand around her starts to run lightly up and down the bare skin of her arm, leaving a tingling trail behind. His fingers curl around her arm, just a hair’s length from her breast, and she inhales with anticipation for a touch she knows won’t come.

“I’m not teasing,” he whispers.

“You’re teasing right now,” she murmurs back, dropping her voice to match his volume.

He links his free hand with hers. “I’ve been thinking. That last night in Glasgow? I don’t think I will need to sleep.”

“No?”

He flicks his eyes down her body and smirks. “Nah.”

She has to break their eye contact or she will make a _bad_ decision, but she wriggles her head onto his shoulder and traces her fingers over his hand. “Sleep is overrated.”

* * *

Alex is unimpressed by their hike.

“It’s not that it’s not beautiful, because it is. But it is _very_ up.” He shoots Julie an exasperated look. “Why does it seem like everyone who studies abroad gets really into hiking?” Without bothering to answer with words, Julie points out at the view from partway up Ben Lomond. “Ugh, good point.”

Obviously, nothing in the world is as beautiful as Connemara. But… this is pretty spectacular.

Alex takes two more triumphant steps and then bends over, gasping for air. “Nope, I can’t do this. Leave me behind.”

Luke is bouncing ahead of all of them like a… well, normally she would say puppy, but this hill is pretty brutal, so she’s going to go with asshole. He glances back at Alex and bounces back down to them.

“Too much energy, dude,” Reggie gasps.

“Come on, Alex.” Luke gets in his hype up pose. “You’re gonna slay this.”

“Nope, I’m definitely the one being slain.”

Without skipping a beat, Luke whips his phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Alex gasps out, suspicious.

“There’s no one around to judge us, so…” Luke hits play on his music app.

The opening of “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” begins to play. Julie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“It’s Scotland. We gotta.”

And before she can argue, he steps up to her and begins singing:

_When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna be,  
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you_

He cups her cheek briefly, then he turns to Alex and claps him on the back.

_When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you_

Groaning, Alex straightens up as Luke whirls to Reggie.

_If I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you_

Reluctantly, Alex and Reggie start trudging up the mountain. Grinning triumphantly, Luke takes Julie’s hand and tugs her alongside him. She sings with him for the end of the verse.

_And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you_

Swinging their arms cartoonishly to the beat of the song, Alex and Reggie join for the chorus.

_But I would walk five hundred miles  
And I would walk five hundred more  
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door_

Reggie loudly yells, “ _Da da da da_ ,” only to realize that there’s no post-chorus yet. He directs an outraged squeal at the phone, as if the song has deliberately misled him.

_When I'm workin', yes, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's workin' hard for you  
And when the money comes in for the work I do  
I'll pass almost every penny on to you  
When I come home, oh, I know I'm gonna be_

Luke meets Julie’s gaze, singing directly to her.

_I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you  
And if I grow old, well, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's growin' old with you_

Her heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest from that look and those words and the sheer confident intention in them… and then Luke trips because he’s not looking where he’s going.

_But I would walk five hundred miles  
And I would walk five hundred more  
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door_

Reggie and Alex glance back at them and nod, indicating that they’ll take the first part of the post-chorus, and Luke and Julie should take the responding echoes.

_Da da da daa (Da da da daa), Da da da daa (Da da da daa)  
Da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-da  
Da da da daa (Da da da daa), Da da da daa (Da da da daa)_

Reggie dances in place for the ending line of the post-chorus.

_Da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-da_

Luke doesn’t look at Julie, but he does squeeze her hand very tightly as he sings the next lines.

_When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you_

She tugs him closer and sings the next two lines directly to him.

_And when I'm dreamin', well, I know I'm gonna dream  
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you_

His face softens into a smile.

_When I go out (when I go out), well, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you  
And when I come home (when I come home), yes, I know I'm gonna be  
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you  
I'm gonna be the man who's comin' home with you_

When they finish singing the verse, he glances at her. It’s only a brief look, because he’s learned his lesson about hiking without looking at his feet, but there’s an intensity to his gaze that she doesn’t understand.

It vanishes as they launch into the chorus.

_But I would walk five hundred miles  
And I would walk five hundred more  
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles  
To fall down at your door_

As they start singing the final post-chorus, another hiker appears, making her way down the hill. She looks like a local rather than a hardcore backpacker or a tourist—she’s dressed very casually in trousers and a t-shirt and doesn’t have a large camera around her neck. As if she lives in the Highlands and this is just a hike she does when she gets bored.

Julie almost gulps. Should they not be singing this? Are Scots really fucking sick of this song?

The woman raises an eyebrow and, without breaking her step, sings “ _Da da da daa_ ” at them.

Their whole group sings “ _Da da da daa_ ” right back.

They trade the post-chorus back and forth, nodding at the woman as they pass her, and continuing to sing until she’s out of sight.

Alex comes to a halt, trying to catch his breath as they sing the final chorus together. It’s only now, as the four of them face each other, that Julie realizes that this is the first time the band has really sung together in over three months. She hadn’t fully understood how much she missed it, but now the wave of happiness (they’re singing together!) and sadness (how has it been so long?) is trying to crack its way out of her chest.

She wonders if the significance of the moment is lost on them, but they all turn to her with matching grins the instant the song ends.

“Seriously, dude, we need you back in LA,” Reggie insists.

“We’ve sung that so many times in preparation for this trip,” Alex adds. “It hasn’t sounded half as good without you.”

Luke just grins as he offers her his hand again, and she’s overcome with how normal and right everything feels.

So naturally, things very quickly feel like they’re on fast forward again, and she’s left with only brief memories.

Like Reggie pouting when he finds out that the loch below them on their Ben Lomond hike was _not_ Loch Ness.

“Look, Reg, Inverness would have taken too long to get to and the internet said Loch Ness wasn’t as scenic as Lomond, so we made a judgment call.”

“But we could have seen the Loch Ness Monster!”

“We literally could not.”

And it feels like only two seconds later that they’re at a pub in Stirling and Alex is trying what the bartender assures him is “a light whisky that’s not got the peatiness of an Islay whisky.”

Alex takes a single sip and sprays it across the counter, yelling, “WHY IS IT FIRE.”

And two seconds later they’re in Edinburgh and Alex is complaining about “All these fucking hills, we did hills the past two days,” and then Reggie is declaring his love for the bagpipes, and then they pass a busker on the Royal Mile playing “Wild Rover,” and instead of the expected four claps, some passing Scots yell “Right up your kilt!”

Everything is happening so quickly, time slipping through her fingers like water, and she can’t catch anything, and days are over before they begin. Throughout it all, there’s Luke, holding her hand every chance he gets and watching her like he’s worried she’ll disappear. She misses Galway and she misses Los Angeles and she misses her band even though they’re right in front of her and her stomach’s full of chaos.

So even though she’s been looking forward to visiting Glasgow for years, she’s not pleased to see the city because it means there are only two days left in this trip. And then not only will the guys leave, but this happy little bubble will pop and they’ll go back to the strain of long distance.

She and Luke feel okay right now. But she knows they’re not on the same page. They may have a solid draft of their song, but that’s the closest they’ve come to talking about the gap between them while they were apart. And the gap still feels like it exists now—these looks he gives her that she can’t understand, looks he sometimes shares with Reggie and Alex.

She should ask, but how do you ask someone if your relationship is broken? How the fuck do you start that conversation?

So she’s a bit relieved that they have tickets to gigs both nights that they’re in Glasgow, because going to a concert with the guys feels normal. They could be anywhere. (Okay, not _anywhere_ , because someone calls the bouncer at the O2 Academy a “pure bawbag” and Reggie is chugging Irn-Bru like he’s planning to consume a lifetime supply of the Scottish soda in one night. They’re definitely in Scotland.) Julie’s tucked in the crowd, the guys forming a loose protective wall between her and all the sweaty, alcohol-soaked bodies around them. The band’s done this a thousand times. It couldn’t be more normal.

Twin Atlantic takes the stage to loud cheers. The frontman grabs the mic and grins at the audience as he yells, “It’s great to be back on our home stage!”

That’s enough to get the crowd chanting. A whole club yelling “Here we, here we, here we fucking go,” drowning out whatever else the band is saying. The band beams at each other, soaking it up like the cries are charging their musical batteries. It’s different than the opening act, a Welsh band who seemed entertained but bemused by the chanting. This band is Glaswegian, and the sound of hwfg isn’t just getting everyone hyped. It’s welcoming the band back, celebrating their success in the language only their hometown speaks, and it adds an extra energy to the whole night.

At first, there’s a pang in Julie’s heart every time the hwfg starts. Her mother was supposed to take her here, and she can picture Rose Molina next to her in the crowd, screaming at the top of her lungs. Julie’s eyes are moist, and she’s trying not to cry because Twin Atlantic isn’t really playing songs that warrant crying… but without even needing to look at her, Luke tugs her in front of him and wraps his arms around her. Offering his support, but not making a big deal out of it.

Being in the room during the chant is different than videos. She knew on an intellectual level that it would feel electric, but she wasn’t prepared for what it would actually feel like. It’s simultaneously exactly like trad in a pub and completely different. The way a space can come alive with the energy from a crowd, the way it sizzles and explodes, the way every sound becomes more than it should be. Being surrounded by bodies, all yelling the same thing. It feels like…

She was right last year. It _does_ feel like getting stuck on a train. And as she imagines being on that stage right now, she knows that with those chants behind her, she’d never be able to stay silent. _Here we, here we, here we fucking go_ indeed.

Leaning up to Luke’s ear, she murmurs, “You’ve convinced me. This is the dream. We gotta play Glasgow.”

A slow grin spreads on his face as he glows down at her. “Your dad was showing me some of your mom’s old demos. I think we could make a good cover of a Petal Pushers song. Play it here, if you want.”

She’s not going to make out with him in public. She’s _not_. “We’re playing the O2?”

“With you as our frontwoman? Inevitable. And ‘Fucking Lovely' would be perfect for a here we fucking go. Just saying.”

The casual mention of one of her mom’s songs—Julie’s favorite of her mom’s songs? Okay, fine, she makes out with him in public.

Just a little.

* * *

The next night—the guys’ last night—they’ve got tickets to see the Proclaimers. Apparently.

Reggie stares around the packed Hydro, shocked. “I’m going to be honest. I didn’t know who the Proclaimers are. It was the only gig tonight with tickets available.”

“How did you not know who they are?” Alex groans.

“I’ve always thought of ‘500 Miles’ as one of those songs that just _exists_ without an author. It’s like how no one knows who wrote the national anthem.”

“Francis Scott Key,” Alex and Julie reply at the same time.

“Well, congratulations on knowing things,” Reggie pouts.

They take in the venue with wide eyes. The Hydro is a much bigger venue than the O2—an arena rather than a club—and there’s a very different energy from the night before. “Bawbag” and hwfg notwithstanding, last night they pretty much could have been anywhere. Tonight there are several groups of people wearing small yellow and black badges and waving the Scottish Saltire, some of which sport the word “Yes.” There’s an undercurrent that Julie can feel but doesn’t understand, subtext she doesn’t have the context to unpack.

She’s clearly not alone in that. Luke eyes the crowd. “This is giving me the same vibes I get when I end up in a church, you know? Like I’m suddenly super aware of how much of an atheist I am and how little I belong there.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, how do you just end up in churches? How is this a thing you’ve experienced _multiple times_?”

“I go with Jules sometimes.”

Julie feels the need to clarify. “He goes for the music.”

“I go because I know it’s important to you.”

And that’s 70% true, but she can’t leave it there unexamined. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m going because “Go Tell It On the Mountain” fucking slaps.’ And then you pouted when no one sang it in _July_.”

Alex and Reggie snort and Luke’s face flushes red. “See this? This mocking Luke thing? This is why I don’t miss you.” he mumbles petulantly.

And… okay, she knows it’s a joke. Technically, she knows it’s a joke. But this is the first time he’s said the words “miss you,” and it’s prefaced by the word “don’t”?

She doesn’t say anything, and the sentence sits there for several long, quiet seconds until Reggie decides that he’s going to get one last Irn-Bru and Julie goes with him rather than spend another second next to Luke.

When the Proclaimers come out, they’re a welcome distraction. The band, as it turns out, has many songs that aren’t “500 Miles.” In fact, they seem to be avoiding doing “500 Miles.” (“Holding it for an encore, gotta be,” Luke mutters.)

Reggie lights up when the tambourine comes out. “Ooh, we should do Proclaimers covers.”

“Probably not,” Alex cuts in, “Given that Luke’s incapable of singing these songs without pretending to do a Scottish accent.”

“It’s not on purpose! How do you sing these songs without doing that? It’s part of the sound!”

When “Then I Met You” starts playing, Luke drapes his arms around her shoulders from behind, pulling her against his chest and tucking his face next to hers. As much as she’s still feeling the sting of rejection from earlier, it’s hard to hold onto that when he starts to sing along in her ear and she feels every word in her heart:

_Thought that I'd be happy  
Gonna be so happy living life alone  
And never sharing anything  
Thought that I was finished,  
Thought that I was complete  
Thought that I was whole  
Instead of being half of something_

He squeezes her tightly and his breath washes over her neck, making her tingle. 

_Thought that I was growing,  
growing older, wiser,  
Understanding why  
This world hold nothing for my spirit  
Thought that I was destined,  
Destined to be nothing,  
Destined to be nothing in this world  
And then I met you._

She looks back at him and joins him for the chorus:

_I met you  
I met you  
I met you  
I met you_

Conscious of the crowd around them, he places a kiss to her cheek. It’s chaste, but he lingers in a way that makes her all-the-more aware of his body pressed up against hers. Of the fact that they’ll be alone tonight.

When Luke pulls his lips away, she notices that Reggie is hugging himself, looking down at his feet. Oh. Of course. This isn’t the kind of song that Reggie needs to hear right now. So Julie grabs his arm and tugs him in front of her, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. A second later, she can feel the gentle thud of Alex getting behind Luke, and by the time the Proclaimers get to the chorus the second time around, the four members of the band are in a line, hugging each other and swaying from side-to-side. For a few minutes, she tells the nerves in her stomach to shut the fuck up and she just lets herself enjoy spending this last precious time with her band family.

When the song ends, Alex and Reggie drift away, but Luke stays gently wrapped around Julie for the rest of the gig. Holding her like she’s precious. Holding her like he’s about to miss her.

* * *

After splitting off from Alex and Reggie for the night, Julie and Luke head to their motel. Luke’s hand feels like fire on her back, and she spends their whole walk down Sauchiehall getting more and more tingly, more and more excited. Finally, there will be sexcapades. She’s ready, she’s prepared, she’s ignoring that familiar pain in her lower belly…

… until they get to their room, when she has to accept that disaster has indeed struck. Her period is two days early, announcing itself with a heavy, spiteful flow.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Lying face down, she groans into a pillow as she waits for pain killers to kick in and alleviate her cramps.

Luke rubs her lower back right where he knows it hurts. “I’m sorry.”

“Why couldn’t it have waited just twelve more hours?”

“Wish we could trade off.”

She cranes her neck to send him a smile. But… “It’s not even about the cramps. I had plans. Plans that involved your dick inside me. Plans that required me _not_ to be the elevator in _The Shining_.”

Luke bites his lip, struggling not to laugh. “That’s, um, a strong image.” His face softens at her pout. “We’ll rain check for when you get back.”

“But that’s ages away!”

“Just six weeks.”

That’s the final thing that pushes her over the edge. Luke was supposed to be the needy one, and here he is, acting like time apart is easy. Normally, she would have been polite about it, but her whole lower body is on fire and she’s fucking _cranky_ and she snaps.

“Congrats on thinking six weeks is a short period of time.” His hand stills for a second. “… sorry.” But her voice doesn’t come out with an apologetic tone. After a long pause, his hand starts up again and she forces herself to look at him. He’s staring at his feet, like he’s hoping to find the words there. “I get that it’s ‘just six weeks’ for you, but for me it’s six weeks and that doesn’t feel small.”

His head turns toward her, but she avoids his eyes. “It’s not just six weeks for me either. You know how much I miss you.”

 _Here we fucking go_. “You haven’t said it.”

“Said what?”

“That you miss me.” She finally drags her eyes to his face. “Not any of you. Not once since I got here.”

His shoulders fall. “None of us? But you know I do.”

“I did, but then you kept not saying it and it felt like that meant something and—”

He kisses her, swift and firm, as if the gesture can take away those thoughts. “Jules, I miss you every goddamn second. Ask Alex and Reg—I think I’m doing a good job filling my time with shit, but they say I’m moping a lot, and they’re trying to distract me but I’m _not_ fucking distracted. You’re my best friend, and I’ve got stuff that I can do without you, but a lot of it, I’d rather have you there for. I was just—fuck, I was being supportive.” In spite of herself, she laughs, and he heaves a defeated laugh in response. “I know I can be intense. I was trying to be chill. … I guess chill doesn’t agree with me.”

“No, it really doesn’t.”

He smiles ruefully at her. “I didn’t want you to feel, like, guilty for having a great time without me.”

“I love it here. But I hate not having you with me. I can miss you _and_ have a great time.” That look she doesn’t understand fills his face again. “What?”

He bends his knees into his chest and rubs at the fabric of his jeans, like he’s trying to make a loose thread that he can pull. “I can’t compare with all this stuff,” he whispers.

“With what?”

“With Europe and adventures and traveling and… stuff.”

What. She sits up, facing him on the bed, laughing incredulously. “Luke, Europe is just a place where some people live who aren’t us. People aren’t better because they’ve been to Europe.”

He shakes his head. “You’re becoming this, like, more worldly person who’s had all these experiences and you know all this stuff now that I’ll never know.”

“I don’t know stuff.”

“You know what the good dunking biscuits are, and how to order drinks at a pub, and when people are taking the piss out of Reggie, and what 'taking the piss' means, and what a _duine brillín-eolach_ is…”

She laughs. “Is this just an elaborate way to find out what that means?” But he picks at his jeans again, so she puts her hand over his to steady him. “Clitoral expert.”

His head pops up so fast that she can almost hear his neck crack. “What?”

Sliding forward on the bed, she tucks herself in front of him and rests her chin on his knees so that he has no choice but to look at her. “For someone who doesn’t have one, you’re… adept.” A smirk starts to spread on his face. “And I only know that because Colm was teaching it to _Carrie_. The Irish phrase I know best is ‘ _Tá cúpla focal agam_.’ ‘I have some words of Irish.’ Emphasis on the ‘some,’ usually said sarcastically.” She traces the back of her hand over his cheek. “I thought we were past this whole ‘you feeling inferior’ thing.”

“And I thought we were past this whole ‘you thinking I don’t care about you’ thing.” Her throat bobs as the truth of it lands. It’s like they’ve spent a year filling in a form online only for the page to time out, forcing them to start all over again. After all this time, how are they back to square one? Luke glares at the ceiling. “Long distance fucking sucks.”

“It really does.”

“I know some people do it for, like, years, but that doesn’t make it feel any less shitty.” His eyes return to her face, his features crumpled up in desperation. “I guess… last year, I got used to thinking I was your home, and it’s been hard seeing you have another home. Watching you fall in love with something I don’t know anything about.”

“Luke, I’m still me. I just… _Tá cúpla focal agam_. And I love some new places. But when it comes to people? You _are_ my home. That hasn’t changed.”

He kisses her again, and this time it’s languid and deep, both of them basking in being able to do it for the few hours they have left. Luke rolls her onto her back, pressing their bodies together, and slides his hands up to cup her face.

When they’re both out of breath, he pulls away, keeping his face inches from hers. “It’s six weeks. We’ve done more than that already. We can do this.”

“How do you make it sound so easy?”

“Time means nothing. Jeremy Bearimy, baby.”

She shakes her head at his reference. “How dare you make me think about that scene when I’m already sad?” A tear leaks out of her eye, which is horrifying—she’s crying because of her period and because of six weeks and because of _The Good Place_. Before she can wipe away the tear, he swipes it off her face.

“Look, six weeks sucks from this side of it. But on the other side… I’m gonna spend decades with you. Six weeks is nothing by comparison.”

She sniffs. “Decades?”

His smile trembles as he traces his fingers over her face. “I was talking about our wedding an hour into our relationship. You already know that.”

“Feelings can change. Maybe after three months away from me—”

He rests his forehead against hers, his eyes peering into hers with a dizzying proximity. “Three months away from you has made me really relieved that we’re in a band and when we tour, we’ll be together the whole time. I’m so happy you’re getting this experience, but fuck spending five months apart ever again.”

She grins and kisses him, weaving her legs with his. He holds her close, gripping her to him as the kiss deepens. His hands slide down her sides until he reaches the waistband of her pajama pants. He tugs gently at the string and glances up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want you to feel good.” There’s no seduction in his voice. Just a genuine desire to be helpful, which is somehow sexier. … and then a smirk stumbles across his face. “I mean, I _am_ the brilliance-savvy person, right? Let me show off my brilliance.”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you what that means. You’re going to be _insufferable_ now.”

“A lot of people tell me I’m already insufferable.”

She kisses his nose. “They're correct.”

“But I’m also brilliant.” He winks as he dips a finger under her waistband.

“ _Brillín_ means clitoris, not brilliant.”

“Not according to Google translate.”

She shakes her head, though the chiding tone she’s aiming for is undercut with her smile. “Shut up and get me off.”

“As Your Majesty commands.”

* * *

Glasgow Airport is small enough that the four of them aren’t separated into different terminals in spite of their different destinations. Instead, the band hangs out together in the Starbucks, waiting for their respective gates to be announced on the departures screen. On the one hand, Julie’s glad that she gets to be with Alex, Reggie, and Luke all the way to the gate, but on the other hand, watching the screen count down to the exact minute when they’ll be separated is a very specific type of torture.

That churning in her gut only ramps up further when she gets a message from Flynn. “Ugh, the apartment building we were looking at filled up.”

Luke glances at Alex and Reggie, who nod, and then her boyfriend pulls out his phone. “I found a place that might work. Let me send it to you.”

When she clicks the link, she realizes that he’s gone unusually still. As soon as the page loads, she realizes why. “This is your house.”

“Yep.”

“But this is a listing for a studio apartment?”

His face refuses to give anything away. “Yeah, Steve’s moving out.”

Wait, what? “ _Who_ is Steve?”

Reggie laughs. “Steve, who has the apartment in the back of the house?”

“There’s an apartment in the house??”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Did you never notice that the back half of the house isn’t accessible from the rest of the house? Did you think three of us could afford to rent one whole house by ourselves in _Los Angeles_?”

Okay, maybe that’s a good point, but she still feels like she’s in the right here. “None of you has ever talked about a Steve. Who the actual fuck is Steve?”

Luke laughs. “He’s an animation major, so he basically spends all his time at the film school. I guess technically he’s our housemate, but separate entrance, so we never really see him. And now he’s graduating, so empty apartment.”

Julie glances at the posting again, confirming that it is indeed a studio. “But where would Flynn live?”

Reggie and Alex pop to their feet. “We’re getting another drink!”

As her bandmates flee, Julie realizes that Luke is biting his lip and bobbing his leg up and down at a speed that makes the table vibrate. That’s when it clicks. It should have clicked before, but she was distracted by _fucking Steve_. “The studio is for Flynn.”

He collects both of her hands in his and catches her gaze with an impossibly soft smile. “Okay, hear me out. Last semester, you said you hated choosing between hanging out with Flynn in the evenings and spending the night with me. Flynn in the studio means she gets space from us when she needs and you can spend time with her there super easily, but we can give her a key to the house and she can hang out whenever.”

“So I’ll be staying in the house.”

His head bobs and she registers that his hands are slightly sweaty. “That was the plan.”

She already knows, but just to confirm: “And there’s not, like, a fourth bedroom? Another Steve in the house I don’t know about?”

“Nah, just the three.” His eyes tick to the table, not looking at her. “Is it too soon?” he asks, overly light.

“I’ve never done it before. How should I know?” A smile curls up his mouth, but he still doesn’t look at her. She can picture it so clearly: going to bed with him every night, having him be the first thing she sees every morning, cooking together, shopping together, fighting for closet space, arguing over chores and what scent of dish soap to buy and what to make for dinner, and it’s everything she wants. But _is_ it too soon? Her fingers itch to text her mother for advice, but all she has is herself and her own instincts. “The guys are on board?”

“They’ve been pushing for it actually. Guess they thought I would be less mopey this semester if I had that to look forward to.”

The way he says it, and the way he’s avoiding her eyes, makes something else click for her. “You knew Steve was going to be graduating. How long have you been waiting to suggest this?”

His cheeks flush pink. “Assume I had the idea way too soon to ask.”

Her heart full-on swoops and it takes a second for her to get her grin under control long enough to form words. “Yeah, that tracks.”

“You know me. Always twelve relationship milestones ahead of where’s appropriate when it comes to you.” As if underscoring the point, he runs his fingers over the bare ring finger on her left hand.

“Be honest: has it crossed your mind that if we live together, it’s going to be easier to leave a ring on my nightstand?”

He chuckles, pulls her hand up to his mouth, and presses a kiss to it. “No comment.” Finally, his eyes slide to hers. “You haven’t answered.”

That shy look hasn’t been on his face since before they were dating, when they were dancing around each other, afraid of breaching the gap between them. She’s reminded of that complete, unshakable sense of faith in them she felt the night before they started dating. She knew almost a year ago. And after the past three and a half months, she knows that she can trust her instincts.

She cups his cheek, running her thumb over the invisible prickles on his face. “I’d love to live with you.”

His smile should be illegal. It’s too big, too bright, too joyful for her heart to handle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He collapses his forehead against hers, and she can feel the tension leaving his body. “But my dad’s still going to be paying my rent next year, and he might have an opinion.”

Luke screws up his face. “You have any idea how he’ll feel about it?”

“He likes you, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to know we sleep in the same bed every night.”

“We could get two twin beds.”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “I’ll talk to him and Flynn while you’re in the air. Hopefully have an answer by the time you land.”

“Fuck, this flight just got even longer.”

Eagerness and longing take over his whole face and the reality finally lands. This is something he’s been dreaming about, _nervous about_ for months. She’s been waiting for him to say he misses her, and he’s been waiting to ask her to move in with him. “You _really_ want us to live together.”

“Like I said, fuck spending time apart.”

She hasn’t been planning on kissing him in the middle of an airport Starbucks when there’s a random old woman sitting an elbow’s distance away, but the bliss and love all over his face erases her ability to control herself. She’s about to lean in when Alex and Reggie come back to the table.

But Luke’s foot presses very gently on top of hers, like he’s telling her how much he wants to kiss her too. Like they’re sharing something private and precious.

When the guys’ gate is announced, she sits with them as they wait for the boarding announcement. She slips her hand into Luke’s and rests her head on Reggie’s shoulder and smiles at Alex, and tries to just freeze this moment forever.

But that’s not how linear time works, and the call to board is announced sooner than any flight she’s ever been on in her life. She gets up and hugs Reggie. “Have a safe flight back. I hope there’s better country music on this one.”

“I don’t need country music. I’ve got Julie Fowlis.”

“Glad I could convert you.”

As he pulls back, his voice turns stern. “We’ll see you in six weeks, and not a day later, okay?”

She grins at him before dragging Alex into a gentler hug.

“We’ll take care of him for you,” he murmurs to her.

“Enjoy your time with Willie.”

Alex nods as they release each other, the weight of their conversation in his eyes. Then the guys clear out as she turns to Luke.

He darts his gaze away. But he’s not fast enough—she clocks how shiny his eyes are. She quickly steps in close and cups his face with her hands. “Hey,” she says gently. Like he’s trying to shove the tears back in, he rolls his eyes forcefully upward. She brushes the escaped tears away. “It’s just six weeks.”

“Six weeks to you,” he mumbles, somehow simultaneously petulant and smug.

“Jeremy Bearimy, right? I’m going to be back before you know it. And then we’re going to live together and we will never have to say goodbye again.”

Delight shines through his tears, but the pout remains. “We’ll still say goodbye sometimes.”

“Only on special occasions.”

He rests his forehead on hers. “Fuck, I love that.” He kisses her, though honestly it’s less kissing and more sadly smooshing their faces together. Right now, that’s exactly what they need. He pulls back just enough to say, “I love you so much.”

“I love you.”

“I miss you already.”

She smiles because she knows. But it’s good to hear. “I miss you too.”

After he finally drags himself away, she watches her three boys get on the plane, and only then, tears in her eyes, does she manage to walk off to her own gate.

* * *

She messages Flynn from the airport, and Flynn is immediately on board, but she waits to call her dad until she gets back to Galway.

“What would you say if I told you I found a place at USC with slightly cheaper than average rent?”

There’s a heavy pause. “Does this place happen to be on Menlo?”

“… it’s possible.”

“Where would Flynn live?”

“Studio apartment at the back of the house.”

Her father doesn’t seems thrown by the existence of the studio, which just makes Julie even more embarrassed for never noticing how the house was divided up. Her dad huffs a long breath. “It’s a big step, _mija_. You’re sure?”

She thinks about some long defensive or emotional answer, but honestly? “Yes.” It’s as simple as that.

Another pause, during which she can almost hear her dad nodding. “This one’s permanent, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t even get a chance to wonder how her dad will react to that, because almost instantly he replies, “Good. Tell me more about this slightly cheaper than average rent.”

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Pint-Sized Bassist :**  
[online]  
  
Reggie: hey roomie, feel like u deserve to know that luke started happy-sobbing the instant he got ur message  
maybe cause he’s jetlagged? but honestly probably not  
alex and i are happy too  
but, like, regular happy where we’re smiling  
we can cry if it would make u feel more welcome tho  
  
Julie: Smiling is fine!  
  
Reggie: also i finally googled square go  
it is not something to say to randos on the street  
heads up if you go back to Scotland  
  
Julie: Haha, thanks for the hot tip.   
  
Reggie: i gotcha  
miss u  
  
Julie: Miss you too!  


* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Brilliance-Savvy Person :**  
[online]  
  
Luke: song rec for someone who’s jetlagged as fuck and misses his girlfriend but is somehow still expected to go to work?   
  
Julie: “I Don’t Like Mondays” and “Bad Skin Days”  
Song rec for someone who misses her boyfriend?  
  
Luke: “never mind the strangers”  
you were right, i like the saw doctors  
have i mentioned i miss you? i miss you  
  
Julie: But you’re having so many amazing experiences.  
  
Luke: … are you never going to let that go?  
  
Julie: Nope.  
Still going to be bringing it up decades from now.  
  
Luke: <3 looking forward to it   


* * *

With classes done for the semester (and with very shocking passing grades on their Irish exams), Julie and Carrie devote much of their remaining time to travel, getting to the parts of Ireland that they couldn’t fit into weekend trips. And Julie finds that she’s finally able to really focus on being there. It’s not that the guys’ visit magically fixes everything—there are still awkward gaps in messages and pauses in conversations and references she doesn’t get.

But six weeks feels infinitely more manageable than five months, and it helps that they’re talking more openly now. That Luke gushes out an “I miss you” multiple times in a conversation, that she can clock that look on his face when he feels like she lives on another planet and reassure him. She suspects her boyfriend talked to Alex and Reggie as well, because “I miss you” works its way into their vocabulary, and it’s much easier to go out on adventures when her phone is full of people that she knows are waiting for her to come back.

There’s a part of her that’s ready to go home—the part of her that’s getting messages from Luke with pictures of the way he’s rearranging things to make space for her: the double bed that replaces his old twin bed, the closet clean-up, the gleeful message from Alex about how they’ve finally gotten rid of Reggie’s gross old bean bag chair to make room for her favorite basket chair. (She tries not to dwell on how awkward her dad might feel as he drops off some of her belongings in Luke’s room.)

But there’s another part of her that’s screaming that she’s not ready to go—that she hasn’t learned all the songs that the trad bands play, hasn’t figured out whether she likes Guinness yet, hasn’t managed to visit every county. (“But you don’t _need_ to visit Cavan,” one of her flatmates insists. To which the other replies, “My mam’s from Cavan!” “Niamh, you fucking loathe your mam.” “But that’s not Cavan’s fault, is it!?”)

Flynn groans when Julie brings it up on Skype. “I have a month more than you do and I’m already a mess. But also I miss you and I want to get back to LA tomorrow. But also I never want to leave Dunedin. Can we do both?”

At the beginning of her semester, Julie thought five months was a long time. And in a way, it was. But it was also a very short time, and it turns out that you can’t visit every inch of a country in five months, and she feels guilty about everything she won’t get to see.

Colm laughs when she mentions it. “Do you think people are going to say you’ve not really been to Ireland because you haven’t visited _Waterford_? _I’ve_ never been to Waterford.”

Carrie laughs. “Why not? It’s, like, three hours away.”

“ _Because_ it’s three hours away. Also, why would I go to Waterford?”

“My guidebook said—” Carrie starts, but Colm shakes his head and leans on the counter, gently but firmly in her personal space.

“Why are you still reading guidebooks? You know actual Irish people.”

“Actual Irish people who haven’t been to Waterford.”

Julie is getting the sense that they’ve forgotten that she’s here.

“Do you need me to give you a lift to Waterford?”

Carrie arches a suggestive eyebrow. “Back home, we don’t call it a lift. We call it a ride.”

“I can’t be giving you the ride to Waterford. Completely inappropriate.”

Colm and Carrie are smirking at each other, and only then does Colm notice that Julie is still sitting at the bar. He straightens back up and his mouth drifts open as he searches for something to say. “Um…”

Julie holds up her hands, quickly removing herself from the conversation. “Yeah, I don’t want to go to Waterford that badly. No offense.”

And it’s a joke, but also… as much as Julie wants to see the country, she also wants to spend time in Galway. Both because traveling constantly is exhausting (and traveling with Carrie and Colm is very uncomfortable) and because she wants to be in Galway. She’ll come back to Ireland someday, and maybe she can see all the things she didn’t get a chance to. But she can’t come back to _Galway_ in the same way. In a month, she won’t ever get to go into her apartment building again. She’ll never have an excuse to do that walk down the canal to the college or take her different routes into the city centre. She can visit and go to her favorite places, but never in the same way. It’ll be visiting destinations rather than living her life, and it’s the casualness of just existing in Galway that she’ll miss the most.

She doesn’t make it to Cavan or Waterford. Maybe she will in the future. But for now, she just wants to enjoy Galway.

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **The Voice of Reason :**  
[online]  
  
Alex:  So we mentioned to your dad that Reggie needed a distraction post-breakup, and somehow this has turned into me, Luke, Willie, your dad, and Carlos going to a baroque opera?  
  
Julie: Please tell me there are pictures of everyone dressed up.  
  
Alex: There are, but prepare yourself  
Luke is in sleeves  
  
Julie: What??  
  
Alex: He thought his shoulders weren’t formal enough (probably true)  
He also slicked back his hair?  
  
Julie: What??????  
  
Alex: It was certainly A Choice  
We were not prepared for how many dick jokes are in this opera. Reggie has been giggling for three hours straight  
  
Julie: How is he doing?  
  
Alex: Up and down. But between the operatic dick jokes and your dad calling him mijo, he’s a bundle of joy today   
Your dad is amazing. Please thank him for us  
And please get your butt on a plane soon, because we all need to go to the opera together   


* * *

When Julie and Luke skype on their anniversary, her boyfriend devotes an impressive amount of time to tracking down the exact date they met, to see if it lines up with their anniversary.

“Really? This is what you want to talk about today? The time we hate-fucked?”

He flashes her a smirk. “Hey, for our first time together and in a random bathroom, that was pretty great sex. We should definitely celebrate that.”

“That’s not the point.”

He winks at her. “Isn’t it?” She rolls her eyes, but he focuses on scrolling back through his texts with Alex to find the date stamp of the messages he sent the day of the party. “Wouldn’t it be epic if it was the same day?”

“It’s not going to be the same day.”

“It is. Cause the universe knows what’s up.” 

It is not the same day. (What does the universe know?) They got together a full six days before the anniversary of the night they met.

Luke sinks back in his chair and studies her face, grinning despite being so incorrect. “Huh. That’s wild.”

“What is?”

“Two years ago, I didn’t know you existed. And now you’re everything.”

“A lot can change in two years.”

“But you’ve been everything for a while.”

The simplicity with which he says it is overwhelming. Like it’s just a basic fact that she’s the center of his world. “You say these things sometimes that sound like the start of a proposal. I don’t buy that you’re going to just leave a ring for me to find.”

“That’s part of why I say that stuff. When I propose…,” her heart stops at the complete conviction in his voice, “it’s not gonna need some big speech. Every day we’re together before that is the speech. The ring is just the inevitable conclusion.”

She can’t speak for a long moment, her throat too happy to make words. Finally, she manages to get out, “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Not if I spend the rest of my life with you first.” His brain seems to catch up with his mouth. “… that was nonsense, wasn’t it?”

She giggles. “So close to a romantic anniversary call.”

“Ah well. Skype sex?” She bursts into giggles and, for a second, all she can do is stare at him because she’s just so fucking happy. The nerves that used to plague her about their relationship are hard to pay attention to, not when she’s only four weeks away from seeing him again. Not when they’re this close. Not when they’re talking again, openly and honestly.

Communication is important to relationships. Who knew?

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Brilliance-Savvy Person :**  
[online]  
  
Luke: happy hate-sex anniversary   
  
Julie: We are not celebrating that!  
  
Luke: why? is the thornton queen too good to celebrate modern holidays?  
  
Julie: First of all, “the first time we had sex” isn’t a holiday.  
  
Luke: that’s society’s failing. it doesn’t have to be ours  
  
Julie: Second of all, you can’t goad me into celebrating our hate-sex anniversary.  
  
Luke: it's like you don’t remember how we met  
  
Julie: Not until we live in our own place.   
I don’t want to have sex in a shared bathroom.  
  
Luke: … again, it’s like you don’t remember how we met  
also, we literally had sex in a shared bathroom three weeks ago  
and it was your idea  
  
Julie: Maybe I’ve outgrown sex in communal spaces.  
  
Luke: … have you?  
  
Julie: No, I’m really looking forward to fucking you in inappropriate places again.  
Happy hate-sex anniversary! ❤️  


* * *

The last few weeks pass in a blur, and Julie’s trying to hold onto the moments as they’re happening, but she knows all too well by this point that that’s never how time works. Fast when you need to savor something, slow when you need to escape it.

Before she knows it, she’s walking Carrie to the coach station, with the other girl’s flight leaving the day before Julie’s. While she doesn’t think she and Carrie would have become friends under literally any other circumstances, they’ve now bonded over something that Julie doesn’t know that she’ll ever be able to fully share with anyone else. She’s just not sure how to put that into words, or if it really will exist beyond Galway.

As the bus to Dublin Airport pulls up, Julie waves at her friend. Why is she waving?? Carrie’s literally standing right in front of her. “Have a safe flight.” 

“Thanks.” There’s a pause, and then Carrie holds out her phone. “Put your US number in.”

Julie tries not grin too much as she does so. “See you back in LA?”

“See you back in LA.” Carrie hesitates, then she grabs Julie in a quick hug, which Julie barely registers is happening before Carrie flees. But before disappearing onto that familiar bus, her friend glances back over her shoulder and flashes a quick smile.

* * *

**WhatsApp Chat with** **Thundercunt (affectionate) :**  
[online]  
  
Carrie:  The first thing I saw in the terminal when I landed in Newark was an Irish pub   
Which was selling something called “Irish nachos”  
And the bartender did NOT know how to properly pull a pint of Guinness  
Like, didn’t hold the glass at a 45 degree angle, didn’t wait two minutes for it to settle  
I ordered a Guinness not a pint of fucking bubbles  
  
Julie: Did you correct them?  
  
Carrie:  No, I would never be rude to a service worker  
  
Julie:  You were to Luke when you first met him AT WORK.  
  
Carrie: Fuck  
I’ll grovel to your boyfriend when I get back to LA  
  
Julie: Colm has been good for you. 😉  
  
Carrie: Shut up  
I did cry though  
Like, right in the middle of the airport  
Mostly because US Guinness is DISGUSTING. But also because I already miss Ireland and people who know how to pull a fucking pint  
By the way, if you want a song to listen to on the plane that will seem like a fun bop and then suddenly punch you in the Ireland blues when it gets to the final verse: “Trouble with a Capital T”  
  
Julie: … are you just trying to make me cry?   
  
Carrie: I refuse to be the only one crying in the fucking airport  


* * *

On her final night in Galway, in the last couple hours before she has to catch the bus to the airport, Julie goes to the pub. As she listens to the band play, she sings along to the familiar songs, and tries not to care about the ones she doesn’t know all the lyrics to. The whole time, she’s waiting for “Wild Rover,” hoping the band or the universe will know that this song needs to play on this of all nights.

But the universe and the band don’t know that Julie’s leaving, so when they finish their second to last song without once playing Wild Rover, she yells out, “No nay never.”

The bandmates look at each other and shrug and start to play. And as she sings every line and claps every clap, she tries to burn this memory into her heart, to capture it forever to return to on the days that she misses Ireland the most. She doesn’t ever want the song to end.

But it does. Because everything always ends, and all you can do is love it while you get it.

She gets to her feet slowly and approaches the bar. As she slides her empty glass over to Colm, she’s not sure whether to say goodbye to him. It’s not like they were friends. She’s spent the whole week feeling that urge—wanting to say goodbye to the donut man or the baristas at her favorite coffee shop or the cashiers at her local Daybreak. People who probably barely noticed her but were pillars of her life for the last five months. She didn’t say goodbye, because that would have been weird, but she wanted to.

Colm may not have really been her friend, but he can see the large suitcase at her side. “That you?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Have a good flight.”

Trying to capture her best Irish pronunciation of thank you, she says, “ _Go raibh maith agat_.” His mouth wriggles, caught between appreciation and pain at her presumably tragic accent. She waves. “ _Slán_.”

“ _Slán_ go foill,” he stresses. Goodbye for now.

As she steps out of the pub, she inhales a final sniff of that now familiar salty, peaty air. The whole of Shop Street is lit up by the evening sky—Irish summer has kicked in, and the sun won’t be down until ten. Every step she takes towards the bus station is in full light, no shadows obscuring her view. She tries to inscribe every inch of that well-worn walk onto her soul. There are parts of her heart that she’s leaving here that she’ll never get back. Is this how her mother felt on tour? Like she was spreading pieces of her heart around the world? Like parts of her belonged to all these places?

Julie’s going home. But she’s also leaving home. Maybe this is what growing up is—accumulating so many different homes—people, places, experiences—that you can’t keep them all in the same place and you’ll always be missing something. As soon as she gets on the bus, that fact will probably start to hurt. And it’ll continue to hurt, aching on random days like a wound on a rainy day. But right now, as she memorizes this final view of Shop Street, all Julie feels is full of love, as if every home she’s ever had is sitting in her chest at once.

She’s leaving home. But she’s taking home with her.

* * *

**Text Chat with** **Prince Luke 🎸 :**  
  
Julie: Guess who’s back on this side of the Atlantic?  
  
Luke: i dunno if this is weird, but i think you being able to text me might be a kink for me for the next couple months  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point in the future, there will be a oneshot of the proposal, which might contain zero angst?? Something new and different for this verse.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as [pearlcaddy](https://pearlcaddy.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Irish translations (mostly according to Coiste na bhFocal Nua):  
> • In the first chapter, _Nach deas an trealamh capaill atá fút?_ : Aren't you hung like a horse?  
> • _Slat atá uaim, nó duine brillín-eolach_ : I'm after a dicking, or a clitoral expert.  
> • _Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú?_ : How are you? (in Connacht Irish, anyways)  
> • _Dáir ort? Tá fadharcán chomh tréan agam go leagfainn balla leis_ : You horny? I've such a horn on me I'd knock a wall with it.  
> • _Is fearr é ná féintruailliú_ : It's better than wanking.  
> 
> 
> References in this chapter:  
>  • “The Boys Are Back In Town” by Thin Lizzy  
>  • “Lunatic Fringe” by Red Riders  
>  • “Hay Wrap” by The Saw Doctors  
>  • “The Wild Rover” (again and always)  
>  • “Galway Girl” by Steve Earle and Sharon Shannon  
>  • “Scientist” by the Dandy Warhols  
>  • Mutefish: my favorites aren't on Spotify, so here's [Wellies in the Air](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83yip6kqke4) and [Old Reggae](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGVJMPpuxzw)  
>  • Julie Fowlis: "Hug air a' Bhonaid Mhoir," “Danns' A Luideagan Odhar,” "Smeorach Chlann Domhnaill"  
>  • “I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by the Proclaimers  
>  • Twin Atlantic: "Heart and Soul," "Hold On," "The Chaser"  
>  • “Then I Met You” by the Proclaimers  
>  • Jeremy Bearimy courtesy of _TGP's_ “Pandemonium”  
>  • "I Don’t Like Mondays” by The Boomtown Rats  
>  • “Bad Skin Days” by Bell X1  
>  • “Never Mind the Strangers” by The Saw Doctors  
>  • "Trouble (with a Capital T)" by Horslips


End file.
